


From the Beyond

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: Song of the Prophetess [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Development, Comfort Food, Dancing Lessons, Depression, Dorian Being Dorian, Dorian is a Good Friend, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Drama, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Execution, F/M, Fanart, Fashion & Couture, Female Friendship, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Gift Giving, Grief/Mourning, Horseback Riding, Horses, Implied/Referenced Torture, Innuendo, Insecurity, Iron Bull is a Good Friend, Jaws of Hakkon DLC Spoilers, Jimterruption, Lyrium Withdrawal, Mabari, Major Character Injury, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Character Death, Modern Girl in Thedas, Orlesian Culture and Customs, Orlesian Grand Game, Orlesians, POV First Person, Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Poetry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Shakespeare, Sera Being Sera, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Snowball Fight, Snowmen, Sparring, Tension, The Descent DLC Spoilers, Trespasser DLC spoilers, Trevelyan (Dragon Age) has Sibling(s), Val Royeaux
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2018-11-21 18:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 294,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11363274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: Tamsyn Ashworth's life is turned upside down when reality is destroyed by an apocalyptic event and replaced with a world she only knows through video games. With no applicable skills, she bargains for her protection in the only way she knows how - with her knowledge of the future.But if she wants the story to go as she thinks it should, then she must keep many, many secrets.Even those of their enemies.Will she manage to survive in this new world she must call home, or will her honesty about herself ultimately be her undoing?-----------------------------------------------*Disclaimer* - Any character resemblance to real persons is entirely coincidental.





	1. Chapter 1

_Aaaaaand, post…_

I clicked the “submit” button on my finished blog entry and pushed back my chair, rising to get another cup of coffee from the kitchen. It was one of those mornings – I had already accidentally deleted an e-mail from the owner of one of the websites for which I wrote daily articles; my most recent entry on a new Dark Ages weapon find in eastern England was littered with typos; I’d stubbed my toe on my chair leg twice; and I hadn’t even had my mandatory second cup of caffeine yet.

I had seriously pondered just going back to bed and writing off the whole day as a loss.

But, as I wandered into the kitchen of my apartment, I was glad I hadn’t. The window beside the refrigerator allowed a decent view of the city park next door, and it revealed a beautiful and clear summer day. After I poured another cup full of coffee, I meandered over to the casement and looked out at the baby-blue sky, cloudless except for a single jet contrail that streaked across it like a giant backslash.

Something soft then brushed against my bare foot.

“Hey, Maddie,” I said, glancing downwards.

My three-year-old calico flopped down on the top of my foot and was rolling over and over. I sighed and acquiesced to her begging for attention, lifting my foot to rub her exposed tummy and flank. Maddie loved belly rubs.

“ _Ow!_ ”

When I did them right.

Maddie traipsed away after nipping at my big toe like she hadn’t done anything wrong. I sighed again, peering at the spot to make sure it wouldn’t start bleeding. Maddie was most certainly an aggravation, but she was _my_ aggravation, and I loved her dearly. Ever since I had moved from my mother’s house after my parents divorced, Maddie was my only company. My online jobs barely brought in enough money to feed the both of us, but I wouldn’t give her up for the world.

I took a stale donut from the half-full box beside the microwave and ate it for a late breakfast, washing it down with the rest of my coffee before heading to my room to get dressed. I felt antsy, like I needed a walk or something, and so I decided to head down to the park for a while. I put on a faded pair of jeans and my favorite blouse – a forest green peasant top with billowy sleeves – and then slipped into my black ballet flats. It was a tad humid, so I pulled my wavy hair back into a tight ponytail. My hair was the type that, if the atmosphere was the least bit damp, it would frizz like Hermione Granger’s and look twice as ridiculous. Despite its difficulty, though, I wasn’t planning on cutting it anytime soon; I rather liked keeping my nearly-curly chestnut tresses just past my shoulders in length. It prevented my rather long neck from looking too skinny when I did wear it down. Or so I believed.

Taking only my keys and phone with me, I said bye to Maddie and left the apartment, not planning on being out more than an hour or two. I couldn’t stay longer than that even if I wanted to; the Irish part of my heritage ensured that I somehow burned to a crisp even in the shade. Thus, my life was mostly an indoor one, sitting in front of a computer screen, with only brief jaunts out into the sunshine.

On the way out, I texted a friend of mine who lived two floors above me in the same complex, Abigail. She was a student at the local college but was able to take summers off. She worked weekends at the coffee shop a block away, while her boyfriend, with whom she lived, worked at the computer store every other day and as an online help technician besides.

_Hey, u want 2 meet up @ the park?_

I was outside of the complex and halfway down the sidewalk before she replied.

_Sure. 1 sec. Showing bf how to do Astrarium puzzles._

I smiled to myself, continuing my walk so I could pick a bench for us. Abigail and I were both avid _Dragon Age_ fans, and she had managed to pull her boyfriend into the series, too. She and I were still playing _Inquisition_ in our spare time, even after beating the game and all its DLCs several times over, and we hungrily devoured any and all news on the next installment. She had told me on more than one occasion that she wanted to make a character to romance Blackwall, but as far as I knew, she was still chasing everyone’s favorite ex-Templar.

But I couldn’t say anything, because I was doing the exact same thing.

I had just found a nice bench under a giant oak when I heard something that sounded like the distant wailing of police sirens. That wasn’t anything new, of course, so I paid little attention.

Until it became louder and louder…

Brow furrowing, I looked up to see a massive cloud of debris billowing into the sky in the distance, the loud bang from its creation following _after_ the upwards spray that just kept going and going. Eyes widening, I realized that the massive upward motion of debris was getting closer as it also got taller, rippling across the horizon in a wave. A rumbling vibrated through the ground and into my feet. Deep down, I knew that it wasn’t a simple explosion or even a demolition. It was an _eruption_ …

And it was headed straight for me.

“Oh my God…”

I felt the words leave my lips, even though I couldn’t hear them over the roar of the earth breaking apart. In my panic, I dropped my keys and phone and turned to run, though it was entirely useless. Whatever had happened, it was already too late.

For everyone. Including me.

I didn’t see the eruption uproot the apartment complex behind me. I didn’t see the ground begin to crack underneath my pounding feet. I didn’t see that the opening earth beneath me glowed green.

The last thing I remembered from my time on Earth was being vaulted into the air at impossible speed.

And then everything went black.

\------------------------------------------------------

The first thing I became aware of after that was that I hurt all over. It felt as though someone had stuffed me into a washing machine and kept it going for hours on end. _Everything_ hurt, from my skull to my toes. I was also cold, my clothes wet with…water? Sweat? Blood?

I slowly peeled my eyes open, afraid of what I might see.

And what lay before me was unlike anything I had ever seen before…or was it?

_Where the Hell am I?_

It was a desolate landscape of nothing but green-tinged wet stone, slick with what I assumed was water, judging from the appearance – the same substance I also assumed had dampened my clothes. The sky was tinted a similar eerie green hue, with hints of some other colors. I looked about and found myself plastered to a twisting column of rock perhaps twenty feet off the ground, the only thing preventing me from plummeting down the column being the tiny ledge my feet were planted on.

_Am I dead? Please tell me this isn’t Purgatory. Or Hell. Because this isn’t Heaven, for sure._

I pinched myself. Checked my pulse. Breathed on my hand. Nope, I was alive and very much awake. Or so I was convinced. So, had the world ended, and this was what it looked like now? It certainly had _felt_ like the world was ending…

I looked up, and to my great surprise saw rocks suspended midair, a particularly large island floating in the distance, with what looked like buildings on top of it.

_Wait, this looks like…_

“Oh my _God_ …”

My voice ended in a squeak, and my breathing quickened as I looked around, memories of playing “Here Lies the Abyss” swimming to the forefront of my mind.

“Oh my God…this can’t be real…this _can’t_ …”

But it looked for all the world like I was in the Fade.

I could feel my heart pounding in my throat, beating as if it were trying to escape my ribcage and flee my body all by itself. My grip tightened on the slick stone behind me as I looked about my person again and again, my eyes confirming over and over what my brain both feared and desperately denied was true.

“I’m crazy…I’m dreaming…I’m insane…I’m _dead_ …I…”

I screamed. I couldn’t do anything else. I screamed and screamed, the sound torn from my throat and echoing across the stony landscape. Some part of me hoped I would scream loud enough that I would wake myself up and I would sit up straight in my own bed in my own apartment on my own _real_ world and I would realize to my great relief that no, _I was not trapped in a goddamn video game!_

That was the stuff of fanfiction, for crying out loud! That wasn’t _reality!_ It wasn’t _possible!_

But every sense of mine told me otherwise. I was in the Fade. It was very much real…at least now. For me. And as the last echoing remnant of my final scream faded in the distance, I suddenly realized that I was also very much in trouble. The tears that spilled from my eyes abruptly halted with my overwhelming panic, and my sobbing gasps threatened to turn into hyperventilation.

If there were demons here, then I really _would_ be dead. Soon, if I couldn’t find a way out.

And if this wasn’t Thedas during the events of _Inquisition_ , there would be no way out at all.

I struggled to control my breathing. I could think later. After I found safety. Thinking didn’t matter at the moment. Survival did.

_Breathe, Tamsyn…breathe. Breathe in…breathe out…_

I swallowed and gathered my focus, noting that my throat was raw from my bout of screaming. Then, looking down, I tried to formulate how exactly I was going to get off of this giant rock column. My flats were certainly not made for climbing, especially not on wet stone, but I had to try.

I slipped on the first step, and another scream flew from my mouth but was abruptly halted in my throat after I didn’t keep sliding. Instead, the sole of my foot stuck to the stone as if held there by gravity, even though it was bent backwards on a vertical surface. Suddenly, I remembered how the scene with the Inquisitor and Hawke in the Fade had looked, and I realized that, if this really was the Fade, gravity truly meant nothing here.

It was whatever I needed it to be. Whatever I _imagined_ it to be.

Feeling a bit daredevilish, I let go of the rock and held my hands out to my sides. I still stayed put. Despite my earlier panic, a grin spread across my face, and I began to awkwardly shimmy down the rock.

Then, I took an actual step.

And the world turned with me. Up became behind, forward became up, down became forward, and behind became down all at once as the scenery rotated. The rock I had been leaning on was now beneath me and I, quite disoriented, fell face first onto it with a yelp and a _smack_.

“ _Uhhhhghghhggh!_ ” I snarled in frustration, my hands balling into fists as I yelled, “ _I hope there’s a damn good punch line coming!”_

I was too flustered to realize I had just quoted Varric Tethras.

Wiping wet chestnut curls out of my eyes where they had come loose from my ponytail, I stood and continued walking. I was angry. And anyone who knew me when I was angry knew _that_ was when I was most determined to get a job done. I didn’t stop until I had reached the base of the column, and the world righted itself again. Thankfully, I had expected it, and I didn’t fall over a second time. I huffed out a breath of relief and put my hands on my hips as I looked around again.

_Now…how to get out of here?_

Nothing but grey-green stone loomed everywhere. Pathways and tunnels in the rocks led in every direction. Anything could have been hiding in the shadows, and I had no weapons…no way to defend myself. Nothing except…

…my imagination.

_Remember your lore, Tamsyn._

I chuckled to myself at the irony.  How funny was it that the stuff that meant absolutely nothing in the real world was vital to survival here? What was worthless before had become more valuable than gold. If this really was the Fade, then I should have been able to influence it somehow, if I concentrated hard enough. I closed my eyes and thought solely of my need to find safety, wherever that was. Somewhere outside the Fade, and preferably in the real world.

_Though, if the real world was gone…_

Safety. Safety. I needed to find my way out of the Fade and to safety…

I opened my eyes. At first, I thought nothing had changed, and I sighed, throwing my hands into the air in exasperation. But then, in the distance beyond one of the rock tunnels, I saw a small bobbing light.

And it was getting closer.

I tried to shut out my fear and control my urge to run as the thing neared. It was a little sphere of almost blinding white light no larger than a softball, and for a moment I wondered if it was some sort of demonic lure, like the light of an angler fish. But when it did absolutely nothing but float there in front of me, I began to think it was a friendly spirit of some sort, drawn by my need for help. A wisp?

“Uh,” I began, not quite believing I was going to start talking to it, but having no other real option. “Hey, little…um…one?” Spirits were technically genderless, so I couldn’t legitimately use “guy.”

Trust me to be trying to address it properly when _it_ wasn’t even supposed to exist.

At my voice, the thing seemed to perk up. Or at least, that’s what I thought bouncing in the air and glowing brighter meant.

“So, uh,” I looked around to make sure nothing was sneaking up on me while the wisp was distracting me, before cocking my head and asking, “can you show me a way out of here?”

The wisp stilled, dimming a little. Then, after a few seconds, it brightened again and bounced.

Even after its affirmation, I hesitated. Spirits rarely did anything without wanting something in return, or so I thought from what I had read about them. I wondered what it was getting out of all this, or what it wanted me to do.

“Do you…want something in exchange?” I finally asked, praying to all heavenly powers to have mercy on me.

The ball of light grew still again, and I heard my own words echoed back at me: _“Do you…want something in exchange? Can you show me a way out of here? Hey little…um…one…”_

I blinked. “You want to hear me talk.”

The wisp bobbed again.

A wave of relief washed over me. I nodded, “Talking. I can do talking. Show me the way and I’ll talk all you want.”

And so it did. It floated away, following its own peculiar whims as it flitted around rocks and under archways, but generally leading me in a relatively straight path. All the while I chattered away about mundane things from the real world I knew it couldn’t warp into a weapon of some kind – my cat, my laundry, my wardrobe, what I had for breakfast. It made no noise of acknowledgement that it understood anything I said, but if it made it happy and got me out of that hellhole, I was more than willing to talk my head off. I kept looking around as I did, fully well expecting some demon to come along and try to destroy or corrupt both of us, but this region of the Fade was surprisingly quiet.

Perhaps they didn’t know how to handle a being from beyond the Beyond itself. Or perhaps this little wisp had more protective power than I thought. Either way, I wasn’t about to complain.

At last, the glowing ball stopped in the middle of a relatively clear area, where a shimmering ribbon of green light hovered mid-air. _A rift_ , I thought. I was still hoping against hope that wherever the wisp led me would cause me to wake up in my own bed with Maddie curled up asleep at my feet. That I would find out this was all just a really elaborate nightmare born from an overactive imagination. That I would actually just be going _home_ …

The wisp seemed even more curious at the tears that welled up in my eyes, floating up so that it was level with my face. I smiled despite myself. It was almost cute.

“So, that’s it, right?” I asked quietly. “Thanks, sweetie. There needs to be more nice little spirits like you.”

Before I could react, it suddenly bounced forward and touched me right between my brows. I jumped as it felt as though I had been shocked, the flesh briefly going numb from the impact. I rubbed at it, and when I blinked, the wisp was gone.

_Uh, oh…_

What had it done? Was that just its tiny way of saying goodbye, or had it… _done_ something?

I didn’t feel any different. After a few moments of standing there, I decided it must have been the former. At least, I hoped it was the former.

My thoughts were broken, however, by sudden eerie sounds behind me, and I suddenly remembered the need to leave this awful place, the almost placid atmosphere created by the little wisp now gone. Steeling myself, I faced the ribbon of light, took a deep breath, and then stepped into it, praying to whatever deity would listen not to dump me somewhere terrible.

There was a brilliant flash, and I stumbled forward onto soft ground. I squinted hard against the light, which was so much brighter than where I had been. Whirling around, I saw that the ribbon of Fade green was still there, suspended in the air behind me. It was most definitely a rift.

As I looked about, quickly taking in my new surroundings, my hopeful heart sank – sank like a stone when perhaps almost every other _Dragon Age_ fan would have thought it should have swelled with delight. The looming, snow-covered mountains, the copses of firs, the curly-horned rams that bounded up the grassy hills and crags...it was all so familiar. Too familiar. Heart achingly familiar.

I was alone in the Hinterlands. In Thedas. Perhaps forever.

The world spun violently, and all went black again.


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke to the sound of fabric flapping around, a soft rustling, birdsong, and distant voices.

I could feel myself lying flat on my back, whatever it was beneath me not quite soft but not quite hard either. The air was cool and crisp around me, and I shivered, despite being underneath some sort of blanket that was so heavy it was weighing my feet down. My spine was killing me, and almost every square inch of my body was still sore, but at least I felt drier than I had before.

It was a few minutes before I worked up the courage to open my eyes. When I finally did, I saw dull red fabric above me, illuminated by sunlight from the other side. A tent. I slowly turned my head and saw where the flap was fluttering back and forth in the steady breeze, and beyond I could see bright grass and the occasional flash of metal. I looked down. I was lying on a stiff cot and covered with some sort of fur. Bear? It was dark and thick and coarse and smelled a bit like pine and heather.

As I felt of the fur throw on top of me, I realized my forearm was bare and covered in bruises. Eyes widening, I peeked under the blanket. I was still wearing my own underwear, but someone had removed the rest of my clothes. Glancing about, I finally found them tossed into opposite corner, and as I squinted at them, I understood why; they were filthier than I had initially thought, covered in awful green slime and completely ruined. I sighed. There went my favorite shirt.

I flopped back against the unforgiving pillow under my head. There went _everything_.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember what the Hell happened.

Had we been attacked? Had some stupid know-it-all scientist screwed up with a mini black hole or some shit? Had a supervolcano finally blown its lid? Did the world really end, or did a hole just get blasted in _my_ part of it? Was Abigail dead? Was Maddie? Were my parents and family? Had they been dumped in some _fictional fucking world_ too? Or was I the only one who had managed to escape death somehow? Why was I even alive?

There were too many things I didn’t know. Too many things I didn’t understand. There was still some vestige of me that hoped and prayed I was dreaming and would wake up in my bed or even a hospital somewhere any moment now. And yet the longer I heard myself breathing, felt and saw and even smelled everything around me…I knew.

I _knew_.

Everything I loved was gone.

“My God, this can’t be _real_ …”

My eyes suddenly welled with unstoppable hot tears of emotion, and no matter how hard I tried to hold it all back, the dam burst. I rolled onto my side, biting my bottom lip to keep myself quiet as I sobbed into the pillow. My bruises hurt like Hell when I moved, but my heart hurt even more. I cried for them all…my family, my friends, my sweet little Maddie. I cried and cried, burying my head deeper into the hard pillow and clutching at the straw mattress while all the panic and fear and grief and anger that I had bottled inside poured out. Despite my attempts to be quiet, I couldn’t help sniffling and huffing loudly with the force of my sobbing, and I was sure someone would burst into the tent upon hearing the noise. And yet, to my great surprise and relief, no one did. It felt as if I were crying for hours on end, with tears enough to fill a swimming pool.

Finally, when I could cry no more, I rolled onto my back again and sighed, releasing the built-up tension with my breath.

My mother was a woman who had been forced to roll with the punches all her life, and she had raised me to do the same. It was time for me to roll with the punches. I was here. I was alive. Those were facts. And now, I had to move forward, no matter what happened. My mother wouldn’t have wanted me to give up.

I wasn’t about to disappoint her.

I swallowed, drying my eyes and sniffing as I regained composure. Blinking a few times, I cleared my head and forced myself to think on the present. I was in a tent, but what kind of tent? Who did it belong to?

I looked around again for clues. The red of the canvas made me think of the Inquisition. If someone had found me in front of a Rift, it only made sense that I would be brought to an Inquisition camp, if the organization even existed yet. _Had_ it already been expanded into the Hinterlands? How far along _was_ the world?

I sighed again. No way to know that without going outside. I kept scanning my surroundings. Beside me was a rickety old wooden stool with a wash bucket on top of it. Propping myself on my elbow, I peered inside the bucket at the still water within, hoping I was still really me and not some fantasized version of myself.

Round chestnut eyes stared back at me, with matching half-curly, half-wavy brown hair framing a square face. Slightly upturned nose, thin lips, light peachy complexion…no elf ears.

Yep, still me.

The blanket had fallen down around my waist, and I glanced down at myself once more. The same purple-green bruising on my arms extended down my ribs to my hips and, it seemed, to my knees and ankles as well. Whatever fall I had suffered after the blast had really banged me up. I was lucky not to have broken any bones. Hell, I was lucky to even still be breathing. I survived an apocalyptic explosion, a trip through the Fade…

Not unlike someone else in this world.

I chuckled a bit. Who had found me and what did they think when they did? I wondered if people were going to put me on a pedestal like their Herald of Andraste.

Come to think of it, that probably wasn’t a bad idea.

They were going to be suspicious of me, that was for certain, if they weren’t already. Perhaps even fearful. That they had cleaned me up and put me to bed to rest and recover was a good sign, but what if that changed? I needed protection if I was going to survive in this world, and the Inquisition was the best bet. But they needed useful people for the cause, and at the moment, I was certainly not that.

I had absolutely no combat skills. Despite my love of history, I had no idea how to wield any sort of medieval weapon like those in Thedas. Not even a knife or dagger. I was not the most tactful of people, so diplomacy was out of the question. I was also prone to being clumsy as an ox, so stealth was out, too. I had no idea how to ride a horse, and though I was neither bone thin nor heavyset, I wasn’t in shape either, and so I had no physical stamina to speak of. If I was going to be a soldier or even a messenger, I would have to be trained, first, in almost every area imaginable.

And, to be perfectly honest, the prospects of having to engage in combat scared the crap out of me.

I had nothing to offer. Absolutely _nothing_.

But then, my eyes widened as I realized…

_I know the future._

I had played this story a dozen times or more. I knew the ending and how to get there. That alone was worth something, right? It had to be worth something. My brow furrowed as I thought hard about how to approach this idea. I couldn’t imply I was a seer or whatever…that would get me locked up; at best they would think me an apostate mage, and at worst that I was insane. It would also be a total lie, and I was terrible at lying.

The only other option was to tell them exactly what I was. But how was I supposed to convince someone like Cassandra Pentaghast that I was a person from another universe who knew what was going to happen because Thedas was a fictional world in a “novel” where multiple endings were possible and I had read the “book” several times over? She would clap me in irons on the spot, calling me mad, a liar, a charlatan, or all of the above. No one would believe me.

I threw myself back down on the cot in frustration and yanked the fur up to my chin, racking my brain to find a way to be honest with these people. I wasn’t the type to be able to lie and keep it up forever. Even if I went to all the trouble to create a fake identity for myself, there would inevitably be aspects that people, especially people like the Inner Circle, would see right through. I needed to tell the truth in order to establish myself as trustworthy.

I needed to prove myself.

That was it. I would tell them something that would happen, then it would happen, and they would know I was telling the truth. I just had to convince them to give me a chance.

But then a nagging fear started gnawing at me. What if my very presence in the world threw everything off? What if my being there caused unforeseen events to occur that jeopardized everything?

I shook my head. _One step at a time, Tamsyn_. Right now, I had to find a way to ingratiate myself with the upper tier of the Inquisition. The rest I could worry about afterward.

“How is she?”

I suddenly heard a low voice outside the tent, and my heart leapt in my throat. It sounded like…the male Inquisitor? British accented. I wondered if this would be the Bioware default worldstate.

“Sleeping I think, milord,” Scout Harding’s voice answered. “But it’s been a while since I put her to bed, so she could be awake.”

Before I could do anything, the flap suddenly opened, and Harding’s head popped in. Her catlike yellow eyes met mine briefly, and she ducked back out.

“She’s awake.”

“Good. I’d like to talk with her.”

_Uh oh…_

I clutched the fur blanket tightly as the tent opened wider, and the Herald himself stepped within. A human. He was tall, head brushing the top of the tent, and his broad-shouldered form and silvery scale armor told me straight away that he was a warrior. His thick hair was dark brown, almost black, layered to the base of his neck and brushed straight back, though it was loose enough it fell forward a bit as he dipped his head. He had a tanned complexion, his face square-jawed with a strong chin. His eyes, rimmed in dark lashes, were a soft olive green, and they smiled with his mouth as he saw me. His nose was a bit long but chiseled, not yet broken by combat, and his lips were full. Somehow, between his appearance and his demeanor, he struck me as a mischievous yet well-meaning sort…a roguish knight, as it were.

That would work in my favor if true.

“There you are,” he said softly as he approached, dragging another stool from the corner to my bedside and sitting a respectful distance away. “How are you feeling, madame?”

“Sore, but well,” I replied honestly, smiling a little sheepishly in response. “I’m guessing you’re the one who brought me here?”

He nodded, “I am. It is good to hear you are feeling all right. You were quite a mess when my companions and I found you lying in front of that Rift. You were lucky one of the demons from the Fade didn’t try to possess you…we had a Templar and mage both examine you.”

I didn’t want to know what that entailed.

“Yeah,” I agreed, glancing away. I found his piercing green gaze hard to meet. “Thanks for saving me, by the way.”

He inclined his head, “No thanks are needed, of course.” He paused, and then added, brow furrowing, “What is your name, if I may ask? Your accent sounds…a bit dwarvish?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Yep, that American accent no doubt made me sound like a dwarf or a qunari.

“I’m Tamsyn,” I said finally, proffering my hand to shake, “Tamsyn Ashworth.”

“Tamsyn,” he repeated, taking my hand carefully. His grip was light, almost as if he were afraid of accidentally crushing my fingers. “Maxwell Trevelyan.”

“The Herald of Andraste?” It was more of a question than a statement. I wanted to be sure that my arrival hadn’t changed anything of immediate importance…

He chuckled as he released my hand, “That’s what they tell me.”

My relief was, perhaps, a bit too obvious, and I quickly covered it with another question, “So you closed that Rift, right?”

He smiled a bit and looked down at what I knew was his Anchor hand. “That I did. It won’t be a problem any longer.” He cocked his head as he looked back up at me. “Though, I do have a question about that. How exactly did you get there? I mean, I thought I was the only one who had been unlucky enough to experience such a thing as falling out of the Fade. But when we found _you_ , everything changed.”

 _Oh boy. Here we go_ , I thought. I glanced away again, unable to meet his eyes without my stomach feeling like it was going to invert itself. Even though confessing to the Herald would be much easier and likely yield better results than doing the same to Cassandra or anyone else, I was still more than a little nervous.

“You’re…not going to believe me,” I answered, releasing a shaking sigh.

“Hmph,” he propped his elbows on his knees and peaked his fingers under his chin as he looked at me, which let me know right fast that he wasn’t about to give up on me. “I somehow survived the explosion at the Conclave, got branded with an unknown magical anomaly, survived being thrown into the Fade, and went from prime suspect to savior in the course of a single day. Try me.”

I looked back and smiled again, raising a brow as I replied, “All right then, Ser Herald. You asked for it.”

I then took a deep breath and continued, “I’m not from Thedas. I’m from another world entirely.” When his brows slowly rose and his eyes went wide at my response, I kept going, taking advantage of his surprise. “A world that _ended_ , and the apocalypse of which threw me here.”

“You’re _mad_ ,” he breathed after several moments of silence, leaning back and away from me, and yet I could see in his eyes that he was torn. I knew he didn’t want to believe me, and yet his very recent experiences told him I _could_ be telling the truth. He had seen my clothes, heard my strange accent…he knew I was unlike anyone he had seen before. The movements of his eyes betrayed everything he was feeling, wide and unblinking as they were.

“Told you,” I replied, hoping my wry smile would hide my own nervousness as I paused and frantically tried to strategize the course of the conversation. “But how am I mad when _you’re_ not even supposed to be real.”

_“What?”_

“That’s right,” I continued, my smile widening. “Where I’m from, Thedas is entirely _fictional_.”

More silence. At length, he shook his head, “I…no. I think you must have caught a rock or two in the head. That can’t be right.”

“Can’t it?” I insisted. “You yourself have experienced the unbelievable. Why is it such a difficult thing to consider that someone else has, too?”

“I…I don’t understand. How can this be fictional to you when it is real to me and to everyone else here?” He shook his head again, his expression a mixture of frustration and incredulity, “That doesn’t make any sense at all!”

I shrugged indifferently, “One man’s dream is another man’s reality, I suppose.”

He was silent again in response, looking down at the ground between his feet. I had to give him a final push. If he teetered any more towards disbelief, he would abandon me entirely. And I couldn’t let that happen.

I sat up on the edge of the bed, holding the fur carefully in front of myself to preserve my modesty even as I leaned forward, “Look. I’m just as baffled as you are, Herald. I can’t reason this out any better than you can. But what’s done is done, and I am telling you nothing but the truth. I am the only survivor from my world, and I can’t help but think I’ve been sent here for a reason. Maybe I’m here because you need me. Maybe your Maker has sent me to help you.”

He looked back up, skepticism written all over his face. “How? You speak of fanciful impossibilities and expect me to believe them, and then insist that you can help me, too?”

I winked, “The story of Thedas’s Inquisition is a book I’ve read before, Ser Trevelyan. Many, many times. ‘Fanciful impossibilities’ are something you’ll learn to get used to.”

He stared me in the eyes long and hard before realization slowly swept across his countenance. “Maker…you know what’s going to happen…how this ‘story’ ends, don’t you?”

_Oh, thank God, I’ve almost got him…_

“That I do,” I replied. “As a matter of fact, this story has several endings, depending on what choices you make. But I can guide you to the best and happiest of them all, if you’ll allow me.”

He continued staring at me for several moments before abruptly standing and running his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth in his anxiety about what to do and what to believe.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but you _have_ to trust that I am telling you the truth,” I pleaded, desperate now. “Herald…there is no way I can make it in this world without aid. I need your help and the protection the Inquisition offers. I will do whatever I can in return if you just let me stay with your people. All I have is knowledge, but I _will_ give it and gladly.”

He didn’t answer immediately, remaining facing away from me. I wanted him to believe what I had said so badly, but how could I honestly do that when I wasn’t even sure _I_ believed it myself? I swallowed heavily and could feel the tears welling up in my eyes again. I was positive that this was my one and only opportunity not to end up killed in less than a month via a hundred possible gruesome and terrible methods. If this was somehow a second chance for me granted by the powers that be, then it would be a piss poor waste of it if I ended up dead anyway within a fortnight.

Then, finally, he turned back.

“I…need to speak with my companions about this,” he said at last.

“To Cassandra?” I asked, hoping my usage of the Seeker’s name would help influence him, especially considering he had not mentioned who was traveling with him.

His brows rose, and then the corner of his mouth quirked upwards a bit. “Yes.”

I smiled, “I eagerly await her response, then.”

\------------------------------------------------------

They argued for an hour or more.

As I suspected, Cassandra in particular thought I was bloody insane. I overheard her shouting about how, at best, I was trying to make a fool of them by manipulating the esteemed Herald…trying to steer the course of the whole Inquisition with my influence in order to achieve my own ends. Well, she was right about that part, but she was wrong about the reason. I really _did_ want them to have the best ending possible, and if I could help bring it about, then I was going to try my best to make it happen. If they would let me.

But then, much to my surprise, I heard Varric light into her.

“You know what, Seeker…what if she really is telling the truth? You made the Herald a prime suspect, too, and look what happened.”

“How _dare_ you?!”

“I dare quite a lot, actually. And you know I’m right. If she really has survived some sort of apocalypse and by some miraculous twist of fate managed to end up here, then don’t you think we should at least cut her some slack?”

“Even so, she could still be _lying_ about what she knows, Varric.”

“Yeah, she could. And so what? I probably would too, in her shoes. She’s trying to be valuable to people who wouldn’t otherwise give two shits about her because she’s scared for her life. It doesn’t take a genius to see that.”

And then, suddenly, I heard Solas’s voice. The elf had, up until this point, been completely silent. I felt myself shiver involuntarily as he spoke…

_Oh my God…_

If he knows that _I_ know that he’s…

_Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shit!_

“Perhaps we should bring her back to Haven with us. Now, after a great deal of trauma has been dealt her, is likely not a good time to either confront or interrogate her. Let us take her to the other founders of the Inquisition and have her tell her story to them. Perhaps even let her prove herself…ask her for the knowledge she claims to have and see what she offers you. If her words _do_ match up with events, then we will know her for an honest woman, yes? If not, we can send her on her way from there.”

A painful silence followed. All the while, my brain was screaming at me for being such an idiot. I knew Cassandra would have been with the Herald, but I was somehow too stupid to think of Solas. If he saw me as some sort of threat, if he knew _I_ knew he was Fen’harel, he could off me to make sure I stayed quiet…maybe after toying with me for a while, but eventually he could decide I wasn’t worth the risk. Or maybe he would delight in watching me squirm for years as I kept secrets from them all, _his_ included. I foolishly hadn’t considered all the things I _couldn’t_ tell them in order for events to play out as they should. Things like his being their true enemy.

_Oh, Tamsyn…you’ve done it now._

“Give her a chance, Seeker. It’s all she’s asking for.” I heard Varric say quietly.

After a moment, Cassandra sighed, “Herald, what do you think?”

There was another long period of silence before I heard his baritone voice reply, “After all that’s happened to us these past few weeks, I think it’s foolish to question her too much. I think we should give her a chance.”

“ _Ugh_ …”

Scout Harding then spoke up, “I should get her some clothes, then. Her others were ruined.”

Relief flooded me, and I bent over, my head on my knees as I thanked all heavenly powers for their mercy. They were going to give me a chance. They were going to take me to Haven.

But despite this small victory, I wasn’t out of the woods, yet. In fact, I could be stepping right out of the frying pan and into the fire.


	3. Chapter 3

It was several minutes before Scout Harding entered the tent, a bundle of clothing in her hands, along with a couple of belts and leather bags draped over her arms. Her cat-like eyes smiled at me over the pile before she set it all down on the stool Maxwell had dragged forth and then secured the tent flaps closed behind her. “Tamsyn, right?” she asked as she buttoned the closures, standing on her tiptoes to reach the topmost ones.

“Right,” I replied as I watched her, more than a bit curious as to why she was going to stay there with me.

She turned back towards me and gestured to my filthy blouse and jeans in the corner, her tone apologetic. “Sorry about those…looks like they’re well beyond redemption at this point. But I don’t think they would be of much help where you’re going anyway.” The dwarf then moved to the pile of clothing on the stool, “I tried to scrounge up some replacements for you, as well as a few things you might need that are more appropriate for travel in this climate.”

I could feel my cheeks reddening a bit in subconscious embarrassment. I hated accepting charity, even when I needed it. “That’s…very generous of you.”

She gave me a crooked smile, “No worries. We got a lot of garment donations from local merchants and nobles, and we’ve put together some relief packs with supplies to help the refugees in the area. If what the Herald says about you is true, you’re just as much a refugee as the rest of the people here.” Beckoning me forward with a wave of her hand, she added, “I thought you might need some help getting dressed after all you’ve been through.”

Cautiously setting the fur blanket aside, I frowned as I moved to get up. “I don’t think- _agh!_ ”

My lower back caught the minute I stood, my knees would barely straighten under my weight, and my thighs felt like they were on fire. I pitched sideways, and Harding quickly moved forward, catching my elbow to steady me and giving me a look that said _I told you so_.

“Yeah, thought that might happen,” she commented as I slowly straightened, wincing hard and grunting as every joint in my lower body protested. Lying down for so long apparently had done more harm than good…

“The Herald seems eager to get back to Haven, so we should probably hurry up,” Harding remarked after I recovered, turning to retrieve the first article of clothing from the pile and handing it to me. “These might not fit so well, just a fair warning.”

With that, I fell silent and let her help me into the clothes she had picked out. First was a pair of supple leather breeches, dark brown and surprisingly comfortable, although a bit loose in the waist and a tad long. Harding corrected the former issue with a broad leather belt that not only helped hold them up but also hid the bunched waistline. She then assisted in getting my feet into a pair of knee-high leather boots, scrunching the breeches a bit to keep them above my ankles. They, too, were a bit big, and I anticipated blisters before all was said and done. While she laced up the boots and tied the strings, I shrugged into a loose, collared, beige linen tunic that almost reached my knees. The v-neckline was a lace-up style, and, if left loose, would have shown a great amount of skin, so I made sure to secure it closed; I had never been keen on showing cleavage, and I wasn’t about to start.

After finishing with the boots, Harding stood up and stepped back, cocking her head at me as if evaluating her fashion choices. “Not as bad as I feared,” she finally said jokingly before noticing the _very_ long sleeves that loosely hung off of my hands. Smirking, she turned back to the stool, “Got something for that, too.”

“You anticipate everything, don’t you?” I teased.

“I certainly try.”

She then produced a pair of leather bracers that she secured around my forearms after I pushed my sleeves up to their proper length. “There,” she said. “That’ll keep them from falling down again.”

After that, she gave me a brown leather vest, held closed in the front by three brass buckles, and then a heavy woolen cloak, lined with some sort of dark fur, that pinned on my left shoulder with a plain enameled brooch. Stepping back again after I adjusted the cloak, the dwarf looked me up and down and nodded approvingly. “That’ll do. No one else would ever know it doesn’t all fit right.”

I gave her a sheepish smile as I pulled my falling hairband out, re-smoothing my hair back from my face and drawing it all into a tight ponytail again at the back of my head. She watched in fascination as I tightened it, and I wondered what on earth she was staring at when I remembered that elastic was something totally alien to Thedosians.

“I’m keeping this,” I said with a deadpan expression as I pointed at it. I wasn’t about to give this little thing up. I had spent too much time searching for hairbands that wouldn’t break too easily or tear through my hair. It was all I had left of the conveniences of my home world, and I made a mental note to be extra careful with it from here on out.

“I can see why,” she replied, her voice slightly tinged with awe.

After a moment, she handed me a shoulder satchel and a backpack, both leather. As I donned them, I noticed they were already heavy with items, and she explained, “There’s healing poultices, potions, and bandages in the smaller pack. The big one has some essentials, food rations, and a blanket. There’s also a fresh waterskin in there…filled it from the spring this morning.”

I shifted the packs on my shoulders and glanced down at myself. I’d never worn this much leather in my life. “Thank you, Scout Harding,” I finally said, dipping my head to her in sincere gratitude.

She gave me a wry smile, “No need to thank me, madam. All this is courtesy of the Inquisition and its supporters. Help us put an end to all this chaos, in whatever way you can, and you’ll more than pay us back.”

At that, she opened the tent flaps again, and I followed the dwarven scout outside, squinting against the bright afternoon sunlight. As I anticipated, the entire camp stopped what they were doing and stared as I emerged. I tried not to stare back, despite the temptation. That all of this was reality was still difficult to digest…

Solas and Cassandra were already seated atop two horses, and Varric was just clambering onto a smaller mule’s back. I deduced that they must have already been to visit Dennet, though whether or not the horse master had committed his herds to the Inquisition remained to be seen. I would have to pay close attention to their conversations to find out; I wasn’t about to ask directly and cause more of a stir just yet.

“She’s ready to go, Herald,” Scout Harding remarked to Maxwell, who was finishing adjusting the girth on his own horse’s saddle.

He turned and glanced over his shoulder at me, “Right. There are not enough horses for you to ride on your own, Tamsyn, so you’ll have to ride with me.”

I nodded in understanding, honestly glad that the Herald had decided to let me share the saddle with him; I wasn’t sure how any of his companions would have reacted to such a thing. Furthermore, I didn’t feel the need to inform him that I was actually ignorant of how to ride and therefore needed to be paired with someone else anyway. I felt a twinge of jealousy as I watched him give his horse’s tack and saddlebags a final look over; I had always wanted a horse, ever since I was a little girl, and I always wanted to know how to ride, but I never had the opportunity to learn. For one thing, our family never had enough land or money to support a horse, and for another, riding lessons were both too far away and too expensive.

At last, he mounted up and then reached down to offer his hand to me, keeping the stirrup empty so I could use it to help hoist myself up. That in and of itself was going to be a feat – I was only 5’4’’, and the Herald’s horse was obscenely tall, making the stirrup about level with my chest. Moving forward with determination, however, I took his hand, allowing him to assist me into the saddle behind him; this constituted an awkward jump on my part in conjunction with Maxwell practically tossing me upwards by my arm. I couldn’t help but let out a tiny yelp as I stretched my aching muscles and banged a bruised knee on a heavy buckle on the saddle.

“Are you all right?” he asked, seemingly genuinely concerned that he might have hurt me.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” I said as I adjusted myself in the seat, suddenly very conscious that the size of the saddle forced me to practically mold my thighs to the back of his legs. “I just uh…heh…still have some bruises, is all.”

“All right, then. Settle in and hold on tight. It’s going to be a long ride.”

I curled my fingers around Maxwell’s belt just as he clucked his tongue, his horse suddenly lurching forward rather abruptly. Even the animal’s walk was brisk, I noted, and I gradually became accustomed to the swaying rhythm while the Herald navigated out of the camp and onto the open road. As we went, I swallowed heavily, trying not to let everything overwhelm me. Despite knowing where we were and where we were headed, the newness of it all kept hammering at me in waves – the sights, the smells, the feelings…even the sounds. I took in a deep breath of crisp autumn air to calm myself and found some stability in the familiarity of it. Autumn was my favorite season, and I favored cooler temperatures over warmer ones. At least I had that small blessing here, for now.

After what seemed like hours of riding in almost complete silence save for the clopping of the horses’ hooves, Varric at last broke it, the first one out of the three companions to gather the nerve to speak to me directly.

“So, uh…Tamsyn, isn’t it?” he asked.

I half-turned in the saddle so I could see him out of the corner of my eye. “Yep.”

He chuckled, “All right. I’ll admit, I’m little hesitant to test you so cheaply, but I _have_ to know how much you’re really aware of…so, who am I?”

I paused. I had to answer in a way that would deter suspicions that I was some sort of spy who had merely done her homework. I had to say something only _they_ would have been privy to.

After a few moments, I finally replied with a slight smirk, “‘ _Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong_.’”

Almost immediately, Maxwell stiffened in front of me, his head turning quickly to the side in surprise, and I couldn’t help but feel a little smug. Only the present company should have known that line.

“Ok,” Varric answered at length, his words coming out slowly. “That’s just…that’s creepy. I’m officially disturbed.”

“She _did_ say that she knew this story well,” Solas remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Yeah…a little _too_ well, apparently.”

“I imagine that it must be rather disconcerting,” the elf continued. “Waking up in a strange realm that you thought for certain was merely fantasy, only to find it all very much real. Is it the fulfillment of a dream or a nightmare, I wonder?”

Great. So he was going to analyze me like a peculiar specimen in a petri dish. Better than some things he could do, I supposed.

“I…don’t really know, yet,” I replied at length, punctuating my answer with a heavy sigh. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see.”

A few moments passed before Varric added, “You know, I can’t get over the fact this could actually happen to begin with.”

Maxwell chuckled, “I’m sure Tamsyn can’t, either.”

“No, really. I mean, think about it. That means I could wake up one day and find myself in _Hard in Hightown_.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Cassandra groaned.

“You’re just jealous you couldn’t be thrown into the _Tale of the Champion_.”

“I’m not sure ‘thrown into’ is the correct terminology to use here,” Solas mused aloud. “Considering she mentioned an event of apocalyptic proportions, then perhaps it would be more accurate to assume that her reality was _replaced_ with this one, rather than to suggest she was somehow propelled from first one and into another.”

“ _Agh_ ,” Varric huffed in frustration, “I still don’t get it. I mean, at least my books are set in Thedas, so if it were to happen to me and those stories in particular, I wouldn’t be hopping worlds. But how can someone’s reality – everything they know – suddenly be replaced by someone else’s imaginary creation?”

“I suspect that the instability of the Fade had much to do with this,” Solas replied. “That is where imagination holds the most power, after all.”

Cassandra sighed loudly, “ _If_ what she says occurred is true, then I doubt there is any point speculating _how_ it happened. We must deal with the here and now, and we have more pressing matters to be concerned with. I think _that_ is what we should be discussing with her, _if_ she can help us.”

“Right,” Varric snorted, “Because let’s not try to figure out the root cause of a problem that could happen again.”

“Perhaps we should leave this for another time,” Maxwell said suddenly, his tone bearing a note of irritation.

They fell silent again.

Dusk came more quickly than I expected, and it wasn’t long before we were forced to stop and make camp in a wooded area north of the Hinterlands. There were only two tents between them, and I ended up being assigned the tent with Solas and Cassandra. As I helped pitch these tents and gathered wood for a fire, I amused myself by wondering which of the two would try to kill me in my sleep first.

And then I remembered Solas’s Dreamer abilities.

I gritted my teeth as I arranged the firewood on the pile at the center of camp.

 _Stay out of my head, you charlatan_.

It was rations for supper as we sat on the ground before the fire – a salty jerky of some sort and twice-baked bread. I didn’t know what either was made of, but it tasted like heaven; my coffee and donut had worn off hours ago. We ate in continued silence, and I had a feeling they would have been a lot chattier had I not been present. I didn’t have the courage to meet their eyes for fear they might take some sort of offense or see it as an opportunity to question me, and so I kept my gaze on the embers for a long while. Part of me hoped that my quiet demeanor, relatively normal behavior, and willingness to stay out in the open would ease suspicions about me somewhat.

But then I realized I needed to relieve myself.

I wasn’t too shy about it, really; I had been camping enough with friends and relatives that I was fairly comfortable with doing it outdoors. Deciding it best not to announce such a need to the world, I got up with purpose and began striding towards the edge of camp, bent on finding a suitable place where no one would see me…

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I should have anticipated Cassandra’s obstruction. I knew the way she was. But there was something about the way she said it that finally set me off. I loved her character in the game, but in this reality, her undying suspicion and her unhealthy habit of jumping to conclusions was fostering a dislike that was going to be difficult to push past, despite the fact I understood where it all came from.

I spun on my heel to face her, giving her a sarcastic smile as I looked up at her. She had already closed the distance between us and had been about to turn me around herself. “Oh, I dunno…” I began quietly, before yelling so loudly it echoed around the forest: _“How about going to find a bush!? Take a leak!? Have a piss!? However you people say it!?”_ When her eyes widened in response, I added, with no small amount of vitriol, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had to _announce my personal business to the world_ before going to do it!”

As I turned back and stomped through the brush, not caring if she continued to follow me, I could hear Maxwell chuckle lightly. A breath of silence followed, and then…

“Well, you _did_ ask, Seeker.”

“Shut up, Varric.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was incredibly difficult to write. I hope it turns out to be worth the long wait!

I stared into the darkness above me for what felt like hours. There was no way for me to tell time, though, and I knew that mere minutes spent waiting would seem a thousand times longer than they really were.

We all retired to our tents well after sundown. No one undressed, partially to stay as battle-ready as possible and partially because the Fereldan night air was borderline unbearable, even with the bonfire nearby. I wrapped my cloak tighter around me and pulled the moth-eaten blanket up to my chin as I lay on my back on the hardened dirt, and I wiggled my toes in my oversized boots as I tried to stave off the numbness that was growing in them from the cold. My back was aching again, my knees were stiffening, and my nose was constantly running from the chilly air.

_How could they honestly sleep like this?_

I liked to think I wasn’t the pampered sort, especially not the kind to complain about conditions I could do absolutely nothing about. But much to my own shame, I found this state of affairs incredibly difficult to deal with. Maybe it was because I’d already slept so much earlier in the day. Or maybe it was because of my overactive mind refusing to let me rest. But one thing was certain – I was the only one out of the five of us who had trouble getting any shut-eye that night, judging from the sounds that plagued me for more than half of it.

I was positioned at the edge of the shared tent, with Cassandra next to me and Solas on the other side of her. The Seeker herself snored like a buzz saw, and in between these raucous inhalations, I could hear the elf’s heavy exhaling from his own deep slumber. So perfectly in rhythm were the two that I began to think they were doing it on purpose just to annoy the Hell out of me. On top of that, beyond the tent, I could hear Varric and Maxwell snoring in tandem, and underneath that were the cacophonous voices of nocturnal animals - crickets, frogs, owls, and the like – droning on and on in an endless hum.

Suffice it to say, I had never wanted a pair of earplugs so badly in my entire life.

I must have finally dozed off from sheer exhaustion, though, because the next thing I knew, I was being shaken awake by Cassandra’s not-so-gentle hand.

“Tamsyn… _Tamsyn_! Wake up! We must be leaving.”

“ _Mmhmmmm?_ ”

I groggily opened my eyes to find the Seeker kneeling over me, brow furrowed in an expression of displeasure.

Because, obviously, I was supposed to wake up with the rest of them like absolute clockwork after listening to the Insomniac Symphony Orchestra all night.

I bit back the pain that stabbed at my body once I woke enough to get up from the ground, refusing to be seen as a whiner, and then helped them break down the tents. Breakfast was the exact same fare as dinner the night before, naturally, and eaten while packing up.

When we were finally ready to leave, Maxwell offered to share his mount with me again, but I refused this time.

“Thanks, Herald, but I think I need to do some walking,” I said. “My joints are too stiff and my muscles too sore to keep sitting. I need to stretch them out a bit.”

“All right,” he nodded in understanding, even as Cassandra glanced at him with a disapproving look, likely thinking I was going to try and escape – like I could actually outrun a horse. “Just let me know when you need a break.”

With that, we continued onwards on our journey to Haven. It was easy enough to keep pace with the horses; they ambled on at a steady walk, not once changing gait. The “road” was little more than a wide dirt trail, but it was clear enough and flat enough to be easy on foot travelers. It would have been easier had my boots actually fit, and as I predicted, after a few hours into the journey, I could feel my heels begin to blister. I wasn’t about to ask Maxwell for a ride, though. There was a part of me that didn’t want to accept any more help, even if I needed it. I knew I couldn’t survive without the Inquisition’s aid right now, but that didn’t mean I wanted to forever remain a damsel in perpetual distress, asking for assistance over every little problem or inconvenience.

The journey was quiet, save for the jangle of harnesses and the huffing of the horses. No one said a word to me the whole time. Or to each other, for that matter. I wondered if they had been like this before I arrived, or if my presence really had put a damper on their social interactions. Despite these thoughts, I appreciated the relative silence. The diurnal wildlife was certainly less vocal than their nighttime counterparts, and the soft rustle of the autumn breeze and the distant sound of melodic birdsong were oddly comforting to me after a long night of harsh noise.

I occupied my mind with counting bushes and trees of the same species that lined the road. Letting myself slip back into my grief and disbelief by thinking of the why’s and how’s of the explosion would only plunge me headlong into tears again, and so I did everything I could to distract myself from doing just that. Once I thought I saw a rabbit bounding up a craggy hillside, and I spotted more than a few rams grazing on precarious ledges. The jagged mountains towered ever nearer, the vegetation growing sparser the closer we came and the ground slowly becoming covered with patches of snow.

And then, I saw it.

We had traveled just enough that the sharp peak of a mountain in the distance no longer hid the Breach in the sky from view. I couldn’t help but let out a gasp of surprise as I finally beheld it. Its existence only pounded the reality of the situation into me, harder than anything else had done thus far, and I was forced to swallow down the panic that clawed at me again.

_Yes, Tamsyn, it’s real. Just like everything else here is real. Now deal with it._

I had to move on. For my sake, and everyone else’s…so I desperately tried to convince myself.

_Haven shouldn’t be much farther…_

I inhaled deeply, the cool air stinging my lungs as I expanded them to their fullest capacity and then let out my breath slowly. My most difficult trial was just ahead. Convincing the Herald to bring me along was one thing…convincing the advisors to keep me in the Inquisition was an entirely different story.

The advisors. I winced.

The Herald seemed to believe me somewhat, so that was in my favor. But Cassandra was yet suspicious of me, and so that would cancel out Maxwell’s opinion – he wasn’t the Inquisitor yet, and so his influence was limited. No doubt Leliana would consider me suspect as well. I could see it already…a flurry of ravens sent into the skies and a contingent of scouts slipping into shadows all over Thedas to find information about me, a smooth-talking woman who was no doubt a spy sent to influence the reborn Inquisition and bend it to the will of some nation or other nefarious power.

I chuckled to myself and rolled my eyes. Sister Nightingale could certainly try. But she would turn up nothing.

Josephine? If she was the same Josie I knew from the games, she would probably offer sympathy similar to Varric’s. She might chalk me up to being more than a little crazy, perhaps due to some unknown trauma I couldn’t explain properly, and take pity on me. Her belief in my tale would likely hinge on a correct prediction or how well I delivered my opening speech to them. If I spoke eloquently enough, I could deflect a charge of insanity, but that would also make the others uneasy.

And then there was Cullen. I obviously didn’t pose a physical threat, so I doubted he would care one way or the other about me, unless he took sides with Leliana and grew concerned about how much I would discover regarding their defenses. Honestly, though, he would probably think me some crazed madwoman best left in the care of the Chantry sisters and kept well away from anything important.

I sighed, keeping my eyes on the toes of my boots as I continued walking. All I had to do was convince them I wasn’t crazy and to give me an honest chance. Whatever happened after that I could deal with as it occurred…right now, I just need to not be turned out of the village and left to my own devices. Or stuck in a dungeon somewhere.

Yeah, that would be fantastic. The question was – could I actually pull it off?

_Only one way to find out…_

The only problem was, here there was no saving and reloading. There was no trying again. I had one shot to do this right. If I blew it, it was game over. These thoughts sobered me as gates came into view in the distance, spanning the width of a narrow pass.

“Here we are,” Maxwell announced.  “Just a bit farther past those gates is Haven.”

I nodded, a knot of dread twisting in my stomach. “I know.”

“We must call a war meeting as soon as we arrive,” Cassandra added. “There is much we must discuss.”

“I agree,” the Herald replied. “I’ll try to catch the first runner I see.”

I swallowed. No chance to breathe, then. Straight to business. _Yippee_.

I needed some honest rest, a bath, and a hot meal. My feet throbbed from the hours’ worth of walking I had done, and my stomach was about to eat itself from the lack of filling food. But the pain somehow assured me I was alive, and it also served as a reminder that I needed to keep my wits about me and pay attention to everything. I couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Not now.

Two guardsmen had been stationed at the gates, already garbed in Inquisition armor. They saluted the Herald and the Seeker and opened the gates without needing to be told. They paid no attention to me as we passed through, and I was suddenly rather thankful that Scout Harding had provided me with some native clothing to wear in place of my filthy clothes from Earth. If I didn’t open my mouth, no one would suspect I wasn’t one of them, and perhaps they wouldn’t even then. I resolved to use this to my advantage whenever possible.

As we continued on, the pathway widened out again, and I could see the tall palisade wall of Haven over the next rise. The Breach in the sky above, now incredibly large, looked like a stationary hurricane on the horizon. The knot of dread balled in my stomach, coupled with my hunger, was beginning to make me sick. And I grew even sicker when we rounded the bend of the path, and I could see Haven’s troops training in the distance.

“No runners yet,” Maxwell remarked. “I’ll have to inform the Commander directly, then.”

Alarm darted through me. I pulled my cloak tighter around myself, as if it would protect me from more than just the chill air. I needed something to do with my hands…they were trembling with my nerves.

 _They’re not going to kill you, Tamsyn_ , I tried to reassure myself.

 _At least, I hope not_.

And then, I spotted him. Commander Cullen was fully immersed in supervising the shield technique of a very young recruit, so much so that he was not aware of the approaching party. As we drew nearer to the training area, the companions pulled their horses to a halt; Maxwell and the rest dismounted, and several grooms quickly ran over to retrieve their steeds, leading the tired horses towards the stables for food and rest. I chuckled to myself as I felt a bit of envy.

The Herald politely waited for Cullen to finish his work with arms crossed atop his armored chest, and Cassandra lingered at his side, hands on her hips. I kept well behind them and out of the way, saying absolutely nothing.

Then, Solas approached the Herald and caught his attention. “If you no longer need me for the time being, I shall be heading to my cabin, Herald,”

“Of course. Thank you again for your help.”

 “No thanks are needed, Herald.” As he passed me, the elf gave me a sly smile that was hard to read, and I almost shivered. I had yet to get a good read on how he felt about me, and that made me nervous.

At that moment, Varric sidled up to Maxwell, too. “I think Chuckles has the right idea. I’m going to go get a stiff drink and put my feet up for a while. Join me later?”

“Sure thing, Varric.”

“See you then, Herald.” The dwarf inclined his head and turned for Haven’s main gates behind Solas. However, before he departed, he glanced to me and gestured for me to lean down towards him. Curious, I furrowed my brow as I complied, and then was pleasantly surprised as he clapped me on the shoulder firmly and gave me a wink. “Good luck, Tamsyn.”

I smiled back, strangely warmed by this gesture. “Thanks, Varric.” His words did much to make me feel better about the whole thing, and my nervousness was almost banished. I continued smiling after him as he walked away.

When I straightened and turned back towards the training area, however, I was greeted by the imposing stature of Commander Cullen approaching Maxwell at a purposeful pace, having finished his work with the young soldier. All the confidence Varric had given me vanished in the space of an instant.

_Maker’s bloody damn breath…_

Everyone had thus far looked just like their in-game personas, just…better. Realistic. _Really_ realistic, not as-realistic-as-fake-graphics-can-get realistic. And Cullen was no exception.

_Don’t stare…_

But it was _so_ incredibly difficult not to. He was tall…able to look Maxwell in the eye, but only an inch or so taller than Cassandra. I hadn’t anticipated actually being intimidated by him, this ex-Templar I felt I knew well after so many playthroughs of every game in the series. But I was. Extremely so. He walked with purpose, carried himself with authority, and _looked_ every inch the role he had been given. And he was also gorgeous. I mean, he had always been some semblance of gorgeous, but now?

I could feel a blush already rising in my cheeks, and I immediately focused my attention on the toes of my overlarge boots, willing the redness to go away before he noticed. There was a reason I had yet to romance any other character in the game. And that reason compounded the anxiety that now threatened to send me screaming over the mountains in panic.

Here I was, living a Cullenite’s dream, and ready to pass out from emotional distress.

“Ah, Herald. You’ve returned,” Cullen greeted Maxwell as he neared. “Mother Giselle arrived a few days ago with information for Sister Leliana. Good work. Have you other news from the Hinterlands?”

“I do, Commander,” Maxwell replied with a nod. “I’m in the middle of securing horses for the Inquisition, but more efforts are required to stabilize the area before Dennet is willing to part with the entirety of his herds. I can tell you more in a council meeting.”

“There are also other matters of import to discuss,” Cassandra glanced my way with a hard chocolate-brown gaze, consequently directing Cullen’s attention to me. I was suddenly filled with the overwhelming desire to punch her.

“You have a new companion?” the Commander inquired, directing the question to Maxwell but keeping his eyes on me. I clenched my teeth to quell my nerves and met that amber stare, straightening and inclining my head ever so slightly to him in acknowledgment.

“Not precisely,” Maxwell answered hesitantly. “Tamsyn here wishes to contribute to the Inquisition, but her position is…well…” he trailed as he failed to grasp the proper words.

“Something to discuss in the war room,” Cassandra supplied.

“Right,” Cullen nodded after an awkward moment, glancing back and forth between me and the Herald. “I will pull together my information and meet you there shortly.”

\------------------------------------------------------

And so here I was at last.

Maxwell and Cassandra rolled out the maps on the makeshift war table of Haven’s Chantry while I looked on, silently pressed to the door-side wall near the corner – on the right when entering the room. As I watched them, I could feel my heart quickening and my palms beginning to sweat. Taking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly, trying to ease the tension that was building inside me.

_Just be yourself and tell them the truth. Keep calm, keep cool, don’t be rash, but stand your ground._

Blatant brazenness would likely get me nowhere at best and in the dungeons at worst. But that didn’t mean I didn’t have a right to get visibly angry if they really pissed me off. I wasn’t about to be pushed around or scoffed at, either – despite my various fears, I wasn’t meek, and I wasn’t about to pretend that I was. They had to know I meant business…that I really wanted to help and that I refused to be brushed off.

“…send a letter to the Marquise about it.”

At that moment, I heard Josephine approach the room and enter, followed by Leliana and Cullen. The Ambassador and Commander didn’t even notice me as they passed by me on their way around the table. Leliana, on the other hand, _did_ catch sight of me from her corner, and she stared at me for a long moment before turning her attention to Cassandra, her hands behind her back.

“We have a guest?”

Cassandra glanced my way again, then back at Leliana with a nod of affirmation. “We do.”

By then, Cullen and Josephine had both noticed my presence too, and they gave me cordial nods of greeting, to which I answered with a small smile.

Maxwell sighed loudly and pulled the door shut. “We…have a lot to discuss. So I suppose we should just jump right in.”

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed. “And due to the nature of the issue, it is probably best to leave the matter of our guest here for last.”

At that, they proceeded to launch into a deep discussion about the state of the Hinterlands, the construction of watchtowers for Dennet, various troop movements and caravan escorts through the region, the prospects of contacting the Grand Clerics, the state of Mother Giselle’s allies, and everything else I expected they would talk about at this stage of the game – pardon the pun. Their topics confirmed that it was definitely early-game world conditions; the Herald hadn’t even made the trip to Val Royeaux, yet, and scouts had only barely returned from the expedition into the marshes after the missing soldiers. I listened carefully to these reports, noting that they seemed to forget about me entirely once immersed in their conversation. I was thankful for the chance to “disappear” for a moment and collect my bearings, allowing me to better gauge how I could fit myself into the current scenario.

But then, far too soon, I became the center of everyone’s attention.

“Well, I think that leaves only one thing more,” Maxwell said, gesturing for me to approach to table. He gave me an assuring smile, but it did little to help.

“Yes, our mysterious guest,” Leliana replied, turning her appraising gaze to me again. “I do wonder why you let her hear so much of our plans, Cassandra.”

The Seeker, too, looked at me. “Perhaps that is best left to _her_ to explain. I…still have difficulty understanding her situation.” She retreated from the table a few steps and scratched the back of her head, as if ceding the floor to me.

Maxwell nodded as I tentatively approached. “I agree. I’m still a little fuzzy on it all as well. It would likely help to hear a full explanation once more.” He chuckled a bit and continued, putting a hand lightly on my back as if to physically support me, “Everyone, this is Tamsyn. We rescued her when we found her unconscious outside a rift in the Hinterlands. It turns out that, much like myself, she somehow ended up in the Fade and, fortunately, found her way out. When she regained her senses, she told me that she wishes to join our cause.”

The advisors exchanged looks of surprise and curiosity, and then returned their attentions to me, seeming at once impressed and concerned.

“That is…very _interesting_...” Leliana said at last, her tone musing. “But how did she manage to find herself in the Fade to begin with? I think we can understand _your_ being there at this point, Herald, considering the nature of the Conclave explosion.”

“And that is where Cassandra and I get more than a little confused,” Maxwell sighed again, inclining his head to me, seemingly granting me permission to speak. “Tamsyn?”

I felt my eyes widen automatically, and any pre-planned introductions I had conjured before the meeting died in my throat as all eyes latched onto me expectantly. I glanced at my audience, taking a deep breath before answering.

“I’m…” I cleared my throat nervously. “ _Ahem_ …I’m, uh, not from Thedas.”

“Not from Thedas?” Cullen repeated, one brow quirking upward.

“So, beyond the seas?” Josephine’s suggestion seemed laced with eagerness. It was hard not to laugh a little at her enthusiasm regarding foreign cultures.

The smile that pulled at my mouth was a sheepish one. “No. Farther than that. I’m…I’m not from this world.” I bounced on my toes a little as I pulled my hands behind me to hide my nervous wringing of them. “Beyond ‘the Beyond’, as it were,” I added with a chuckle.

Utter silence followed, so oppressive I could feel it weighing down my shoulders. Maxwell’s expression was unreadable. Cassandra looked as though she had just eaten a lemon. Leliana’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open a bit. Josephine’s eyebrows very nearly hit her hairline.

“You’re _joking_ ,” Cullen replied, his hands flexing on top of the pommel of his sword as he stared at me flatly.

“I’m not,” I replied shortly, my defensiveness rising far sooner than I had anticipated at his curt response. “Believe me, I wish this were one big joke, but it isn’t.” I could feel my hands balling into fists behind me, hidden by my cloak. “All I can tell you is how I got from there to here, and yes, the explanation is one that’s difficult even for me to swallow. Even so, you need to hear it if you are to understand what I can offer you. You will find that I am a very unique and valuable asset.” I marveled at how much easier the words came when I was angry.

There was another pregnant pause before Josephine said lightly, “Perhaps we should hear her explanation before we judge her too harshly.”

When no one offered anything else, most of them practically glaring at me at this point, I continued with a waver in my voice. “So yes, I’m from another world…a world that got destroyed by some cataclysmic event. I don’t know exactly what happened. All I remember is hearing an explosion, a large one, behind me. And when I turned around to see what it was, the ground was being uplifted, like an eruption, coming at me impossibly fast. Buildings were destroyed in an instant. I started running. I don’t know why, it was stupid to even try. But I did. The last thing I remember of it all was being thrown into the air from the force of it, and then I blacked out.”

I took a deep breath, holding onto the edge of the table for support. “When I finally came to, I was in a place I later discovered to be the Fade. I don’t know what happened between the time I lost consciousness and the time I regained it to get me there. It just did. Something tells me I hit a lot of things on the way, though.” I pulled the side of my collar down far enough that they could see the massive purple bruising on my shoulder. Josephine hissed in a breath, and Leliana’s brows rose. I readjusted my clothing and added, “I found my way out, thankfully. Through a rift, as your Herald said. When I came out on the other side, I passed out again. And then I woke up in an Inquisition tent.”

I wasn’t going to tell them about the little wisp of a spirit that helped me get out of the Fade and booped me, just in case Cullen or Cassandra decided it did more than give me a friendly boop. Maybe it had, and I just didn’t know it yet…

“If what you say is true,” Cullen began, his eyes squinting at me slightly, “then it is a miracle you managed to survive all of that.”

“Yes,” I replied simply with a nod. “It is.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why you wish to join with us, or what you can offer us, unless it is to repay the debt you owe the Herald for your life,” Leliana observed, her shadowed gaze almost unblinking under her hood.

“There is that,” I nodded in acquiescence. “But more importantly, as I’ve already told the Herald, because of where I’m from, I’ve been privileged enough to see this story before. I know the tale of your Inquisition, and I know how it ends.”

“And this is where she really loses me,” Maxwell remarked, rubbing at the back of his neck.

 “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand your meaning,” Josephine said, cocking her head at me. “You’re saying that you’ve essentially seen what happens in our world ahead of time? How?”

“It sounds like a type of magic that not even we have encountered before,” Leliana commented, her tone carrying a note of awe.

“It’s not,” I said, shaking my head emphatically so no one would get the wrong idea. “Where I’m from, magic doesn’t even _exist_.” I sighed loudly in frustration, throwing my hands in the air and letting them slap my thighs. “The thing is, this world, Thedas, is, where I’m from, part of a work of fiction. Like a book. That’s the only way I know anything about any of this.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Cassandra shook her head.

“I _know_ it doesn’t. It doesn’t make any sense to me, either. But it’s the _truth_ ,” my voice rose in pitch, and I punctuated my words with a pounded fist on the table. “This world…all of you…have never been real to me until now. Until now, Thedas belonged in a work of fiction that people where I’m from read for entertainment.”

A hiss of exasperation came from Cullen, who looked as though he were ready to climb over the table and strangle me. “ _Why_ are we entertaining this madwoman?” He asked Cassandra, who silently jerked her thumb at the Herald in response. Maxwell gave her a flat glare.

“ _I’m not mad_!” I barked, my impatience ultimately getting the better of me. “You know what I am? I’m someone who just lost everything she knows and loves, found herself in a place that isn’t supposed to be real, and now has to figure out just what the Hell she’s going to do with herself! Who has to live with whatever fucking disaster destroyed her home and now has to find a way to survive longer than a fucking week! Can you at least understand that simple fact?!”

That brought their snide interjections to a halt for once.

I took a few breaths and continued, “I’ll tell you what I told your Herald. I can’t survive here. Not on my own. And I’d very much like not to die at the hands of bandits or marauders or qunari or rebel mages or rebel Templars or just some random fucking animal that decides it wants to have me for lunch! All I want is the safety of the Inquisition. And in return, I am willing to give you some semblance of certainty regarding how this story goes. It’s all I have.” I shrugged and shook my head resignedly. “I can’t fight, I can’t spy, and I sure as Hell can’t be diplomatic, as you no doubt can tell. But what I _can_ do is tell you what choices you have and what will happen if you make those decisions. That’s got to be good for something, right?”

Leliana pressed her lips together as she leaned forward onto the table. “And how do we know you’re not a spy who has crafted a _very_ elaborate tale for us to swallow?”

“You don’t,” I replied with another shrug. “Not yet. But when you send out courier after courier and raven after raven trying to find information on me and turn up _absolutely nothing_ , then maybe you will believe me.” I crossed my arms as a wry smile tugged at the Nightingale’s lips. It was then I knew she was going to gladly accept the challenge.

Josephine sighed, turning to her colleagues with her quill in hand. “If my opinion in this matter counts for anything, then I will say that I do not believe Tamsyn is either a spy or a madwoman. I’ll admit, my experience with both is a bit…limited. But I have been exposed to a great many sorts of people in my life, including the deceptive and the insane. These are not descriptors I would apply to her. I think we can rest assured that she is being as honest as she can be, considering the situation. She obviously both desires our assistance and wishes to compensate us for it. Should we be so eager to dismiss her?” The Ambassador cast me a small smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back, thankful that at least one person in the room was willing to give me a chance.

“Varric and Solas both seemed receptive to the idea that what Tamsyn says happened could have actually occurred, however unbelievable it may seem.” Maxwell finally rejoined the conversation. “And, honestly, something she told me not long after we found her rings true – we’ve seen events occur lately that we all thought were impossible until now…how is this situation of hers any different from all that?”

I felt my mouth drop open, and I was more than a bit shocked at what I heard. So he had actually taken my words to heart, then? _Wow_ …

Cassandra sighed heavily, putting her head in her hands. “So…if we are to assume that Tamsyn is absolutely correct in her assessment of what happened to her, and she hasn’t been driven mad by the Fade…if this truly is a narrative that she has somehow read before…”

“Then she also knows who our antagonists are,” Leliana supplied.

“Right,” Cullen agreed, brow furrowing. “If you know the future, then why not just tell us the names of our enemies and be done with it? We could end this conflict much sooner.”

I shook my head, “Because then the Inquisition might not succeed. Your victory depends on knowing the right information at the right time, and not before. The temptation to spill it all now is certainly great, yes. But then I would no longer be aware of the future, because at that point, everything would change.”

“Her very presence here could change things,” Josephine said suddenly, her hazel eyes a bit wider as comprehension dawned. I internally cringed. I kind of hoped no one would pick up on that part…

“What do you mean?” Cullen asked.

Josephine’s brow furrowed as she thought, “It would be like a person going back in time to events with which they originally played no part. Her very presence here could alter the history of the world.”

“Right,” I said with a slow nod. “This story, as it usually goes, has no Tamsyn in it. Now that I’m here,” I gestured to myself, “I’m the only one who can make sure this story stays on the right path.” I nervously laughed and added, “Or, well, you could also solve it by killing me, sure. But then you wouldn’t have any guidance at all.”

“No one here is going to kill you,” Maxwell assured.

“But it’s _your_ perception of the right path,” Leliana observed. “Stories can often be warped to support the opinion of the author who wrote them to begin with.”

“True,” I said with a bit of a smile. “But you must believe me when I say I want the best resolution possible for everyone in the Inquisition.”

“You’ll forgive me if that is a bit difficult to take your word for, at the moment,” Cullen replied tersely.

“I know. I understand, and I do forgive you,” I answered, glancing down at the table. I was getting really tired. “I know how it looks, and I know how it must feel having someone tell you all this. If I were you, I’d be suspicious, too. Have your people look into my background, if it makes you feel better. Keep me under lock and key for a while. But please,” I implored, “give me a chance to prove myself. I promise that I will not steer you wrong.”

“But,” Cassandra said suddenly, her eyes betraying the first inkling of curiosity she had displayed thus far, “If this is like a story to you, then your knowledge has a limit, correct? You cannot see past the supposed ending?”

I nodded, “That is correct. At some point, I won’t be able to provide any more advice, as I won’t know how events will pan out past a certain point. I will let you know when that time comes, but right now, that time is a long way off.”

“How long?” Leliana pressed.

I shrugged, “Three or four years, give or take.”

Cullen heaved a heavy sigh, brow furrowing as he rubbed the back of his neck and closed his eyes. Josephine had focused her gaze on her tablet, but wasn’t writing anything. Leliana exchanged looks with Cassandra and slowly shook her head. After a few moments, Maxwell at last broke the almost unbearable silence, “Solas suggested testing her. Letting her give us information on future events and seeing if her word holds true. If it does, then we will know she is being honest.”

More silence.

“Well then, Mistress Tamsyn,” Josephine finally said, turning her full attention to me. “You have heard the state of the Inquisition. You know where we are and where we can go at this point. How do you suggest we move forward?”

I took a breath, glancing between Cassandra and Maxwell. Here it was. The first test.

“You both will need to go to Val Royeaux to face the Grand Clerics. There you will find Revered Mother Hevara waiting on you, preaching to her flock. She will denounce you, and she will insist on your arrest, but the…guests, she has in mind to do so will turn on her. There will be a face you recognize but don’t know truly, Seeker, and you will leave with more questions than answers. There will also be opportunities to gain more allies in the capital, so keep your eyes open while you’re there.” I turned to the rest of them, “That is what you need to know thus far.”

“Hevara,” Leliana remarked with a dark scowl. “I have heard that name. She is one of the most ardent seekers of the Sunburst Throne. She has been scrambling for support ever since hearing of Justinia’s death.”

“Is she a threat?” Cullen inquired.

“No,” I replied with a shake of my head. “Once she is brought down a peg by the people she wants to do her bidding, she will no longer be a person of significance.”

“I must say,” Josephine commented, brows raised, “this is all becoming rather intriguing.”

“Yes,” Leliana replied. “Now all that remains is to see if our ‘friend’ here is telling the truth.”

“Only one way to find out,” Maxwell said pointedly, raising his brows at Cassandra as if asking for her final say on the matter.

At last, after a painful pause, the Seeker sighed her resignation. “All right. Tamsyn…you may stay with the Inquisition here in Haven. For now. But know that you will be watched.”

My relief was so overwhelming that I nearly collapsed where I stood. I let out a pent up breath and leaned on the table for support. “Thank you,” I breathed, feeling my arms trembling as they attempted to hold up my weight. “Thank you so much. Thank you.”

“Our meeting is now adjourned,” the Seeker continued, heading for the door. “I will be speaking with each of you individually before we make plans to leave for Val Royeaux.”

With that, they slowly began filing from the chamber, avoiding my gaze, whilst I remained standing where I was. I certainly wasn’t going to fight them for the doorway while tensions remained so high. I felt Maxwell clap a hand to my shoulder with a bit of a chuckle, “I suppose congratulations are in order, then. Welcome to the Inquisition, Tamsyn.”

The clink of metal followed him as he, too, left, chased by the soft swish of Josephine’s satin garb and the creak and clank of the door as it closed behind them all, leaving me standing alone in the makeshift war room.

 _Welcome to the Inquisition_.

Even as I replayed those words over and over in my mind, scarcely believing they had actually been said, I didn’t feel very welcome at all.


	5. Chapter 5

I stayed in the war room for several minutes, waiting long enough for the others to disperse and even leave the Chantry entirely. I wanted to be alone for a while, without people leading me about or checking up on me. I knew Haven well enough. I didn’t need supervision or help finding my way around. But, unfortunately, I knew _they_ thought I needed to be watched, and I fully expected to be tailed by one of the Nightingale’s scouts as I finally garnered the nerve to leave the chamber.

I opened the door tentatively and peeked out, only exposing my head and shoulders past the casement. When I saw that no one was in the near vicinity, not even Mother Giselle, I breathed a sigh of relief. The closest people to me were a pair of gossiping lay sisters in an alcove near the entrance. They likely hadn’t heard a thing.

Taking a deep breath, I slipped fully out of the room, pulling my bags and cloak tighter to me and striding down the main thoroughfare towards the open Chantry doors like I had every right to be there and knew exactly what I was doing. Which, of course, I did. On both counts. I didn’t look around, didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, and didn’t glance over my shoulder to see if someone really was following me. I wasn’t going to give the Nightingale the pleasure of seeing me act nervous or paranoid…that would do nothing but help solidify my guilt in her eyes.

When I finally made it back outside, I noticed that the sun was dipping low behind the mountains, the Breach just a little brighter in the dimming sky. It would be getting dark soon, and with the dark would come the cold – probably colder than even the Hinterlands had been. I needed to find a shelter where I was welcome and proper food, and just the thoughts of the latter set my stomach to growling loudly again. That hot meal I had been thinking about on our arrival now preyed fiercely on my mind, and I turned towards the leftmost path from the Chantry, letting my sore feet lead me through the settlement and straight to the Singing Maiden.

I could hear the laughter and music before I even entered, spilling from the open windows, and it brought a smile unbidden to my face. That such a merry atmosphere could be cultivated at all with the world falling apart at the seams – it spoke of either great resilience or great thick-headedness. Or both. As I approached the nearest door, I felt like I could really use some of whatever it was that was in there right now. Something to make me forget the mountain of crap I had fallen into. I eased the door open and ducked inside quickly, so my entrance wouldn’t be quite so obvious. Within, the tavern was filled with scouts and soldiers, most of whom looked like they had just returned from their patrol duties, judging from their wind-bitten features. One of the troops nearest the door gave me a nod of acknowledgement, which I politely returned, but he said nothing at all to me. The rest of the patrons were too engrossed in their conversations to even notice me, and Maryden’s playing in addition to the constant hum of voices masked the creak of the door hinge.

So, it was apparent that no one had gone running around the village screaming who and what I claimed to be quite yet. That was good. It meant I would at least have a tiny bit of peace and quiet before word got around. Maybe a day or two, if I was lucky. No doubt some overly-curious blabbermouth scout or town biddy would pick it up from the Herald or one of his companions or even the advisors and go on the gossip-fest of the ages. But, thankfully, that hadn’t happened today.

Just as I was looking for a place to sit, I saw a hand wave out of the corner of my eye. Varric, alone at a small table near the crackling fire, saw me and was gesturing for me to join him. Smiling, I gladly obliged.

“There you are,” he said as I approached, and I dumped my bags at the feet of the rickety chair I plopped into across from him. “I thought Cassandra might have decided to have you for dinner or something.”

“I was beginning to think she was going to myself,” I answered with a quiet chuckle as I pulled the chair closer to the table.

“So, tell me,” he leaned forward, peaking blunt gloved fingers underneath his square chin. “How’d it go? Are they letting you stay?”

“For now,” I replied with a sigh. “The Herald followed Solas’s advice and let me tell them a few things about their current tasks and what to expect in the future. They’ll be going to see if what I said comes true, soon. Or _you_ will be, rather.” I smiled wryly. “Another trip with the Herald is in order.”

His brow rose, “Really, now? Where to?”

“Val Royeaux.”

“ _Shit_.” He grabbed the tankard at his elbow and tossed back the remaining contents.

“Yeah.”

“You coming with?”

I shook my head, “Probably not. Honestly, I wouldn’t be much help there anyway, and I think Sister Nightingale wants to keep an eye on me.” I glanced around, leaned closer, and whispered, “Well, more like murder me in my sleep if I so much as look at someone the wrong way.”

He chuckled. “So…she thinks you’re a spy.”

“Willing to bet my oversized boots she does,” I nodded affirmatively. “She’s going to be in for a shock when she finds out I’m not, though.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You know, no one in their right mind wants to believe this Fade disaster not only punched a hole in our world but someone else’s, too. Enough to zap someone from said other world into ours with knowledge about…well, apparently almost everything that happens.”

I sighed again. “It’s not that comprehensive all the time, though. I can’t tell you when Corporal So-and-So from Wherevertown digs his morning latrine.”

He laughed heartily at that, and then nodded slowly in understanding. “Because you said it’s like a story, right? So that means you know all the important plot points, but not the day-to-day details of all the, ah, _extras_.” He gestured around at the patrons.

I nodded in agreement.

He huffed out a breath and shook his head in disbelief. “I honestly still can’t get my head wrapped around what you’re saying happened and how you know what you know about all this. But I’m smart enough to realize that just because I can’t understand it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’ll admit, up to this point, I’ve been caught halfway between thinking you got hit in the head one too many times and actually believing you. But the more I hear you talk, the more I’m inclined to go with the latter.”

I smiled, honestly warmed by his words. “Thanks, Varric. It’s good to-”

I was abruptly cut off as my stomach then decided to growl loudly enough for the both of us to hear it over the noise of the tavern. I felt my face immediately grow hot as it reddened in embarrassment, but Varric merely chuckled. “ _Someone’s_ hungry, it seems.”

“Yeah,” I replied, glancing at the bar, “I guess I got so wrapped up in everything I forgot about it for a bit. I was…” I trailed, suddenly realizing that, out of all the supplies I had been given by Scout Harding, none of it included coin. “Oh, crap. I don’t have any money.”

Varric shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. Ruffles has everything sorted out already. No need to be concerned about food when you’re around here. Flissa!” he called. Once the barkeep raised her head from her work, he added, “A bowl of your famous stew and some ale for the lass?”

When she nodded in response, I felt myself flush even more. “You’re being awfully kind to a near-total stranger.”

“Just trying to put myself in your shoes, Tamsyn,” he replied with a smirk. His eyes looked a little distant as he added, “Something I do a bit too much, I think. It’s become something of a detrimental habit of mine.”

It was then that Flissa suddenly approached with a bowl of stew and a mug of ale in hand. She smiled broadly at me as she set both items in front of me, “Enjoy, miss.”

“Thank you,” I replied with an equally broad smile, and the barkeep dipped her head to me before returning to the counter.

The food smelled heavenly. It was steaming hot, straight from the kettle, and as I inspected it with the wooden spoon I’d been provided, it looked to be a mixture of hearty broth, vegetables, and some sort of meat. “Hope you like leeks and potatoes,” Varric commented. “We have a surplus of those right now.”

“What’s the meat?” I poked at a particularly large and dark chunk, edged with fat.

“Ram. It’s the only thing we have in steady supply at the moment.”

My brows rose. I’d never eaten anything remotely like ram meat before, but I wasn’t about to turn my nose up at it.  Immediately after I took the first bite, I was hooked for life. It was _delicious_ , and once I started, I couldn’t stop shoveling it into my mouth in a rather un-ladylike fashion. It reminded me of my uncle’s deer stews and chili. That man was practically addicted to venison…

_Was…_

Varric must have noticed the look on my face, as he suddenly said quietly, “Bringing back some memories, eh?”

I swallowed heavily, not lifting my gaze from the bowl. “Yeah. Didn’t expect that.”

He grunted his understanding and fell silent again as I finished up. I forcefully shoved the memories back and didn’t stop eating until the wooden spoon could gather no more liquid. I then pushed the bowl aside, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and took a giant gulp from the tankard without thinking. Thankfully, the ale tasted like it had been watered down, so it wasn’t too hard to swallow. It had a strange aftertaste, but I wasn’t going to complain about something that had been given to me.

“ _Herald!_ ”

The chorus of voices…well… _heralded_ Maxwell’s arrival at the Singing Maiden. I looked up from my tankard to see him enter the tavern sans armor, and I noticed he looked somewhat smaller without all that gear on him. He acknowledged the soldiers and scouts with polite nods, though he seemed a bit embarrassed by all the attention.

Good to know he didn’t bask in it.

The patrons went back to their drinks rather quickly, and as the Herald made his way over to our table, dragging up another chair, Varric teased, “And here I was thinking you weren’t going to show.”

Maxwell sighed heavily, “Cassandra kept me occupied for _quite_ a while with travel plans.” Glancing my way, he met my eyes with his olive green stare and added, “I didn’t want to say it with the others within earshot, but I think you handled the meeting rather well, Tamsyn.”

“Thanks,” I offered him a sheepish smile. “It was tough, I’ll admit. Especially after the Commander started looking like he wanted to kill me.” I recalled the feeling of hostility that had permeated the air towards the end of the council meeting, and I self-consciously took another gulp of the ale. I was fairly convinced that Cullen hated me now, along with Cassandra, and it hurt my heart more than a little.

“Naaah,” Varric shook his head. “Curly wouldn’t kill you. He’s just…a little tired of all the magical bullshit going on. Can’t say as I blame him. I’m getting there myself.”

“I think we all are,” Maxwell replied before returning his attention to me. “Honestly, Tamsyn, I think you’re safe here. Cassandra and Leliana want to watch you, yes. But I’m all but certain it’s just to make themselves feel better, at this point. They still have trouble believing your story, but I don’t think anyone sees you as a true threat. If they did, you would be in the dungeons and not here.”

“And what about you, Herald?” I asked, curious as to his own thoughts on the matter. “Do _you_ believe me?”

He answered me with a wry smile. “I shall reserve judgment until after we return from Val Royeaux.”

“ _Ergh_ ,” Varric groaned. “And here I was hoping Tamsyn was just bullshitting me about that.”

Maxwell leaned back in his chair. “Unfortunately, not. Josephine has made arrangements for us, and Leliana has sent scouts ahead of us to gauge the situation. Apparently an interesting turn of events will take place there, according to Tamsyn. And, more allies will be there, you said?”

I nodded, offering a small smile as I remembered the notes from Vivienne and Sera in the Orlesian square. “Keep an eye out for a messenger and an arrow.”

“A messenger and an arrow,” Maxwell repeated slowly, his eyes wandering upwards as he mentally stored the information. He pulled his hands behind his head, and I could see the Mark pulsing faintly on his left palm.

“So what _kind_ of allies?” Varric inquired probingly, “Political? Religious? What are we talking about, here?”

I smiled. I anticipated this sort of pressing would happen a lot over the course of my tenure with the Inquisition.

“You’ll see,” I winked.

The dwarf’s lips quirked into another smirk, “Ah, figures. Can’t tell us everything ‘cause it will change the story.”

Maxwell chuckled a bit at the remark, but I didn’t. I was afraid that was going to be a tension point between me and everyone else. Especially in regards to some later events…

“Oh, before it slips my mind,” the Herald suddenly leaned forward again. “Tamsyn, Josephine requested you come to her office at your earliest convenience tomorrow.”

“Really? What about?”

He shrugged, “Logistical matters, I’m sure.”

“In other words, ‘lodging, a uniform, and a salary,’” Varric clarified.

“Likely,” Maxwell agreed. “If everything develops as you say it will in Val Royeaux, then I believe you’ll be considered an additional advisor to the Inquisition, at least in some capacity, and I think Josephine wants to be certain to pay you appropriately. I also told her that you need some clothes that actually fit you,” he looked down at the squished toes of my boots. “Perhaps even some armor.”

I felt my brows rise at the suggestion. “Armor?”

“Yes. I know you said you couldn’t fight. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need protection.”

“Especially if you’re good enough at this prediction thing that Max here wants to drag you everywhere with us,” Varric winked back at me.

“We’ll see about that,” the Herald chuckled again.

At that, I suddenly yawned, and I quickly put a hand in front of my mouth so as not to be rude. The events of the day – and a half night’s worth of listening to their snoring – was catching up to me rather fast. Maxwell noticed this, and he looked to Varric questioningly. “Is there a place Tamsyn can sleep until Josephine arranges something better for her?”

“Haven’s pretty packed, but there’s several cabins with multiple cots in them,” the dwarf replied at length. “No one’s assigned to those, so I’d say you could just pick a bed and crash. Or you could try the Chantry if you’re not feeling brave enough.”

I yawned a second time, and my head felt a little light as exhaustion settled in. “I’d rather not get in the path of the advisors again if I can help it,” I said sleepily. “I’ll uh…try the cots. If I wake up dumped face-first on the floor, I’ll know I did it wrong.”

“Well,” Maxwell gave me a small smile, “If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell them the Herald said you could retire there.”

Varric laughed wickedly, “Oh that’ll shut ‘em up.”

I hummed a bit in amusement as I picked up my bags and stood. “Well, Varric…Herald,” I nodded to each of them in turn. “I think I need to answer the call of sleep. Thank you both so much for…well, everything.”

“Sleep well, Tamsyn.”

“No problem. Get some rest.”

At that, I left the tavern to find one of those cot-filled cabins they spoke of. The late evening air already had a distinct bite to it, and I shivered as I navigated the streets of Haven, my breath puffing out in little clouds. All the while, I thought of how supportive Maxwell and Varric had been, thankful that they had been so trusting of me and so willing to help me out, even if they did find my story unbelievable. I kept replaying the war council meeting over and over in my mind, knowing that if I had been in their shoes, I would have been just as suspicious as Cassandra and Cullen and Leliana had been.

I could only hope that I would eventually be able to win them all over.


	6. Chapter 6

When I finally awoke the next morning, it was already so late that everyone who had been in the cabin when I had stumbled to bed the night before was long gone. I was honestly surprised that no one had tried to wake me up at dawn, but I was thankful they hadn’t. I had been completely and utterly exhausted from the previous days’ events and needed to catch up on rest if I was to keep going. And I _had_ to keep going. No matter what happened, I wouldn’t give up. I wouldn’t.

Once I was awake enough to focus, I rummaged through my bag to see what other supplies I had been given – the “essentials” Harding had mentioned. Soap. Various tiny but rather crude tools, including a small knife that looked like some sort of razor. A bone comb. Some fine powder I assumed was the equivalent of toothpaste when mixed with water. Taking the comb, I pulled out my ponytail and carefully brushed through my tangled hair, frowning as I realized it was getting a little on the oily side. Not being able to shower was going to be hell.

I spent at least ten minutes combing through the matted mess before it was at last somewhat presentable. As I finally pulled the curlyish hair back up with my trusty elastic band, taking great care not to stretch it too far, and smoothing down the frizz with my hands, I realized I was probably going to be lucky if I got to bathe once a week, at least while here in Haven. I would have to ask Josephine to be sure, but I was pretty certain that utilizing washtubs every day was _not_ going to be a possibility.

_Better get used to smelling like a pig, Tamsyn._

I grimaced. Hopefully, I didn’t smell too badly yet. I remembered Maxwell telling me that Josephine wanted to talk to me, and the last thing I wanted the Ambassador to realize was the fact I hadn’t bathed in days. The very thoughts of it made my cheeks redden in embarrassment. God, this was going to be hard to get used to…

After I packed up everything again, I noticed there was a basin in the corner with some water in it. I approached it, but I didn’t use the contents to wash my face. Rather, I used it as a makeshift mirror to check and see if I looked all right before heading out into public. I frowned at my reflection. “All right” was just about the extent of it. My hairstyle was too harsh without makeup, really. My face was already etched into an expression of pure misery. There were dark circles under my eyes. A faint bruise I hadn’t even noticed before was already turning green-brown on my cheekbone.

Shaking my head, I forced myself away from the basin and out into the open world. Now was no time to be fussing over my looks. I could worry about baths and appearances after I was secure enough in my position with the Inquisition to be able to do so. Right now, even with Cassandra’s permission to stay, I wasn’t so sure that I was.

As I left the cabin, I noticed that Varric was not at his place at his fire near the center of the settlement. Frowning, I wandered towards Solas’s part of the village. The elf wasn’t there either. Maxwell must have already left for Val Royeaux, then. Huffing out a breath, I hoped against hope that my “prediction” would really come true, and that my very being here hadn’t messed all that up. My welfare depended on my being right. If I turned out to be wrong out of the starting gate, I would be in deep trouble.

Sighing in resignation, I turned to head towards the direction of the Chantry to get this meeting with Josephine over with.

But then I realized I needed to pee.

How did Thedosians use the “privy,” as I recalled the protagonist calling it? Using a bush would be the logical answer if in the wilderness, but here? Did they have outhouses in Thedas? I thought I remembered Blackwall mentioning something about a village latrine before. Perhaps Haven had one? Surely if they didn’t before, someone had built one. Or two. Or three. There was no way they had indoor plumbing, so that had to be it. And considering the amount of people, they had to have more than one if they didn’t want a line at the door…

I chuckled to myself. _Just follow the smell, right?_

Surprisingly, it actually didn’t take that long to find. The latrine – or at least the one I encountered – was, in fact, very similar to an outhouse in appearance, positioned on the edge of the village near the mine. Lucky for me, no one else was near it at the time, and so I quickly ducked in and latched the door before someone else could claim it. I held my breath and did my business as quickly as I could. It wasn’t as unpleasant of an experience as I had feared, though it wouldn’t do any good to gripe about it; I didn’t have any choice. I just wished I had easier access to soap and water.

Hoping no one had been waiting on me, I quickly opened the door and left the privy, only to charge right into a soldier who had been reaching for the handle to test it. And, as luck would have it, I didn’t just run into him…I tripped on his boots and _knocked him_ _down_ , landing right on top of him. My cloak tangled in my legs, my bags went flying, and we fell in a heap with yelps and a rattle of armor.

“Whoa, Maker _…mph_!”

“Shit! _Oof!_ Sonova-”

We both grunted loudly on impact. Landing with my full body weight chest first onto a steel breastplate was no fun. Not at all. But my physical pain was quickly replaced with the sting of humiliation as I scrambled to get off of him…

…and recognized the face underneath the helm as that of none other than Knight-Captain Rylen.

Frickin’ _Rylen_.

_Oh, shit…_

“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry! So, so sorry!” I apologized profusely, certain my entire head was going to spontaneously combust from the intensity of my blushing. “I had _no_ idea anyone-”

“Easy, lass, easy! It’s all right!” he laughed a little, getting back to his feet with far more grace than I had before I could even offer to help him up. “I’m the one who should be sorry…I was a bit too intent on getting to my destination…”

“So was I,” I replied, quickly bending to retrieve my bags to hide my face. “I’m really, really sorry, ser.”

“It’s all right, lass. You weren’t hurt were you?”

“No, no, it’s fine!” I reassured, my own laugh a nervous one as I straightened my clothes. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, yes. No worries, as I said.”

“Good.”

I spun on my heel and barreled for the Chantry before he could say anything else to me, very nearly in tears from sheer embarrassment. Great. I just plowed right into Cullen’s second-in-command. I could hear it now: _“Hey, Commander, you know that new girl?” “The crazy one who claims she’s from another world?” “That one. She ran right into me and knocked me to the ground racing to get out of the privy, of all things.”_

At least it hadn’t been Cullen himself. If it had been, I think I would have expired on the spot.

The village went by in a blur. Once within the darkness of the building, I ducked into a side alcove to recover my composure, taking deep breaths to calm myself. It was just an accident, and a silly one at that, and yet I felt like any wrong move could be the end of me. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, forcing the hot tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks to recede. I fidgeted with my bags and cloak again and then cleared my throat before emerging from the alcove and heading for Josephine’s office door. Time to get this done.

I knocked gently, the sound terribly loud in the quiet Chantry, and I heard a muffled “Come in” in answer.

Carefully, I opened the door and peeked inside. Josephine was bent over her desk, scribbling away intently at whatever diplomatic task was before her. When she did not look up at my entrance, I said tentatively, “Um…Ambassador?”

Her hazel gaze lifted at last, and she seemed slightly surprised when she saw me. Once she did, though, she smiled warmly and beckoned me forward, “Oh, do come in, Mistress Tamsyn. I was hoping you would drop by.”

I hesitated a moment, honestly taken aback by her welcoming demeanor. She had been nice enough at the council meeting, but I thought perhaps she would have second thoughts later. Apparently not.

The door slowly creaked shut behind me, and I noticed Minaeve was absent as I carefully made my way forward. Josephine set aside her work and gestured to an empty chair opposite her. “Do sit and make yourself comfortable.”

I nodded and obeyed, dropping my bags beside the chair as I sat down.

“I feel I must congratulate you on your success in convincing Lady Pentaghast to let you join the Inquisition,” the Ambassador said as she procured fresh parchment and stacked it atop the miniature lectern on her desk. “She has expressed concern that you are not what you say you are, but she has not changed her mind about you, either. In fact, it was she who told me after our meeting that I make proper accommodations for you as soon as possible. That is what I was hoping to arrange now.”

My brows rose. So Cassandra was more inclined to believe me than she had let on. I was certain that the Seeker would never have instructed Josephine to make specific arrangements for me unless she truly wanted me to stay. Josephine must have read my thoughts from my expression, as she added, “Don’t be fooled. Despite what Lady Pentaghast said yesterday, you have made quite the impression on her. I do believe her eagerness to leave for Val Royeaux with the Herald this morning was more because of _your_ implications, rather than our pressing need to deal with the Grand Clerics. If your words prove true, I would venture to say that she will be more than grateful for your continued assistance. As will we all.”

I smirked, recalling how Cullen and Leliana had reacted, and I asked skeptically, “Are you sure about that, Ambassador?”

She chuckled, knowing exactly what I meant, and then sighed as she shook her head. “Cullen has a similar mind as Cassandra, and if she trusts you, then I have a feeling he will grow to accept you as well. Do forgive his brusqueness at the meeting...he has been rather strained as of late. As for Leliana,” she looked off into the corner, “she is still a bit suspicious, and she _has_ sent her agents to find information on you. But she knows as well as I do that you wouldn’t have so brazenly challenged her to do so if there was anything incriminating to be found. She has all but told me that she knows you aren’t a spy, she is just…taking precautions.”

“To make herself and everyone else feel better about it all,” I supplied.

“Yes,” Josephine sighed, propping her elbows atop the desk and peaking her fingers under her chin. “At this point, we can do nothing but take you at your word. I will admit, it _is_ difficult.” She paused, thinking about her words before continuing, “But, I imagine that it is difficult for you, as well. I cannot fathom how you must be feeling right now. Thus, I feel it necessary to try to put your mind at ease, if I can.”

I nodded appreciatively, glancing down at my hands before asking, “So…you really believe me, then?”

She smiled gently, “I am willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I will await Cassandra and the Herald’s return before I make a firm decision, of course. You understand.”

“I do. Like I said before, if I were in your shoes, I’d be very suspicious, too.”

Her smile widened, “Perhaps you would not be as terrible a diplomat as you believe. Being able to put yourself in someone else’s position is the first step towards becoming a successful negotiator.” She lifted her quill and dipped it into her inkwell, adding, “But on to business, shall we? I will need to have you added to the Inquisition’s official roster if I am to provide you with all the necessities due your position with us. Your full name, please.” She bent over the parchment again as she awaited my answer.

“Tamsyn Alexandria Ashworth,” I said slowly. Because of the angle of the lectern, I couldn’t see if she was spelling it right or not, and she didn’t ask. I supposed it really didn’t matter all that much. There probably weren’t a lot of Tamsyns in the Inquisition.

After a few moments of scratching, she continued, “And your age?”

“Twenty-nine.”

She paused, and her brow furrowed as she thought. “I don’t suppose your calendar is anything like ours, is it?”

“It’s got twelve months like yours. My birthday is the seventeenth of the third month.”

“Ah.” She nodded and scratched away again on the parchment. “So, the seventeenth of Drakonis.” She looked upwards at the ceiling as she counted. “9:12 Dragon, had you been born here.”

More scribbling.

“And what is your rank?”

I hesitated. “Our, ah…our titles work a little differently where I’m from. Here I’d just be…well, I guess just a commoner.”

Her brow furrowed as she scribbled some more, but I could read no judgment in her mannerisms. “What occupation, then?”

Another pause as I formulated how to describe it to her simply. “I used to write. Small stories. Articles. Like in a periodic publication.”

Her brows rose as she took note of it, her quill bobbing over the paper. “I see. You have a formal education, then?”

I smiled proudly, “I do.” Suddenly struck by impulse, I added, “I attended a university as well.”

“You did?” she seemed even more surprised at that, and I grinned, conveniently omitting the fact that it didn’t require noble patronage like I was fairly certain it did in Thedas. I hoped her knowledge of my education would gain me favor _somewhere_. Maybe.

“You shall have to tell me about it sometime,” she said as she continued writing, adding details to her report.

“I’d love to.”

We both fell silent for several long moments as she scratched away, the parchment quickly filling with ink as she, I assumed, wrote down instructions or descriptions for whomever she was going to send the paper to.

“Now,” she said at length, pausing her writing. “I’ll be giving you the empty cabin adjacent to the Herald’s, formerly occupied by Marquise Cécelie and her daughters. It is the most recent vacancy in Haven and likely the most suitable for you.”

I felt my eyes widen in surprise at her words. I had been expecting to be assigned to a specific _bed_ in a cabin much like the one I had awoken in that morning – if not that exact one. Not be given a whole one to myself.

“A…a whole house? Really?”

She gave me an affirmative nod, “Of course. Unless you _want_ someone else to share it with you?”

“Oh, no! I mean, not unless you _have_ to,” I replied with a nervous laugh. “I’m…well, a pretty private person, really.”

Josephine grinned knowingly, “I thought so. It is apparent that, should Cassandra be pleased with the results of the Herald’s mission, you won’t function as a mere courier, scout, or soldier here, so it stands to reason you should have a residence of your own with some measure of privacy. I imagine you will be handling some _delicate_ information that requires you to be unobserved for a measure of time.”

“T-thank you!” was all I could say. It was a rather lame expression of the level of gratitude I felt, but it was all that would come out of my stupid mouth…

She continued her writing, likely making the assignment official. All the while, I couldn’t believe my luck. Things were looking up after all. I wondered…

“So, uh…Ambassador? What _do_ you do about baths around here?” I asked, finally garnering the nerve to inquire about such a thing. I was hoping she wouldn’t think it a selfish question, or that it came from a pampered person with no grasp of just how thin their resources were spread. I hoped she understood…

She stopped writing and looked up at me with surprise in her hazel eyes. “Oh, that. Well, as you can tell, the surface water in the area is frozen solid almost all year,” she looked visibly uncomfortable at the mention of it. “But I have been told that the well has a plentiful supply, and, from what I’ve learned, the locals sometimes even use the snowmelt. Do you wish one to be drawn for you?”

I blushed. “If it’s not too much trouble…”

She shook her head emphatically, leaning forward at me a little. “Of course not. Despite our rather dire financial straits at the moment, we cannot have cleanliness go neglected. We must remain presentable at all times, and we must also maintain good health; the Commander in particular is adamant that he will not have disease spreading amongst the ranks, and so we have all made personal hygiene a top priority. Our servants are paid well to attend to the hygienic needs of our people. We even have our own chandlers here in Haven, with regular distributions of soap amongst the troops. It is nothing like Orlesian or Antivan products, mind you, but it _will_ do the job.”

I felt my brows rise in surprise. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. “Oh, well, that’s…better than I expected, really.”

The corner of Josephine’s mouth turned upwards just a bit. “We are not as barbaric as our opponents make us out to be. Our funds may be stretched, but I ensure that every coin goes towards the benefit of our people.” She scribbled a bit more and then set her quill in the inkwell, pausing for a few moments as she let the ink dry. “I will make note for someone to ready a bath for you this afternoon. In the meantime,” she folded the parchment and handed it to me, “if you will, run this by Quartermaster Threnn. She will then see about getting you a proper uniform made.”

“All right,” I took the paper carefully and then cautiously rose to leave, “Thank you again, Ambassador.”

She dipped her head, “Of course, Mistress Tamsyn. Now, if you will excuse me.”

I half-bowed and gathered my bags, quickly leaving the room so she could resume her work, but not before peeking through the window to make sure I didn’t plow right into Mother Giselle or Minaeve on the way out. I could feel my face flushing again at the memory of my collision with Rylen.

Once outside the Chantry, I made a beeline for Threnn at the requisition table, noticing that Leliana was not at her tent. I waited a few moments as the Quartermaster finished speaking with a delivery boy before approaching her with Josephine’s parchment in hand.

“Yes, you need something, miss?” Threnn asked as I neared.

“Ambassador Josephine said to give you this,” I answered simply, extending the paper to her.

Her brow furrowed as she took it, unfolded it, and quickly scanned its contents. “Right. Welcome to the Inquisition, Tamsyn. I’ll send some instructions down to the forge. A messenger will come ‘round to find you when they’re ready to get your measurements.” The quickness with which she said it indicated that there was to be no further conversation with her about it.

“Thank you, Quartermaster,” I replied with a dip of my head.

“Aye. Maker go with you.”

“And you.”

With that, I turned away from Threnn’s requisition table and began making my way towards my new residence, eager to dump my bags there and have a few moments to myself to absorb everything Josephine had told me. Then maybe I would head to the Singing Maiden for something to eat. Take a long walk around the village while I waited for the servants to bring the bath water…

I inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath as my footsteps felt just a bit lighter. Maybe, just maybe, things would be all right after all.


	7. Chapter 7

I sat at the foot of the bed in my new cabin, my bags on the straw mattress beside me, and looked around.

_Not too shabby…_

It was fairly bare at the moment, partially because, I assumed, it had been stripped of contents when the Marquise and her children left the village. It was one large room, the single bed shoved against the rear left-hand corner, facing towards the door. In the middle of the back wall was the fireplace – currently cold. A small table with two chairs sat at the center of the room, and another, smaller table and stool had been placed under the window on the right-side wall. There was a slightly warped, standing mirror with a copper frame in the corner opposite the bed. Another window on the left-hand wall gave me a view of the Herald’s cabin, and two more windows bordered the door. Each had its own pair of shutters that could be closed from the inside.

And that was about the size of it.

The bed itself was covered in a large deerskin over the straw, and the blanket on top of that was comprised of furs of some sort. No pillow. I wondered if this was how the Marquise had slept, or if she had taken her own bedclothes with her. If she was an Orlesian like I thought she was, then I wouldn’t have been surprised at the latter.

As for myself, I didn’t care. In fact, the charming little cottage was already working its way into my heart. It was cozy, neat, and gave me privacy I otherwise wouldn’t have had. It just needed a few more personal touches, and it would be like a new home.

No, it _was_ my new home.

I felt tears prick in my eyes again. Mom would have loved a little cabin like this. She always liked small and simple. Rustic. And this was certainly all of those things.

I huffed out a sigh, closing my eyes and trying not to cry again. It was so hard to not curl up into a ball on that tiny mattress and bawl my eyes out for the second time since I arrived in Thedas. I still felt like I hadn’t properly mourned; I had shoved all the grief that I _should_ have been expressing behind a wall. And yet, at the same time, I felt like I had to force myself to move on. To keep looking forward. Whatever had happened to good old Earth, there was nothing I could do about it. And there was no point in speculating how anyone might have died or throwing around “what-ifs”. I was smart enough to know that.

What I regretted now was lost opportunities. Things I should have said while I had the chance. To Mom. To Abigail. To everyone. But now, that chance was long past.

I bit my lip, taking in a deep breath.

If this was some sort of second chance for me, then I wanted to do it right, this time. I would learn from the past. Learn from my mistakes. I wouldn’t repeat them. And I wouldn’t waste this new shot at life.

And that meant not wasting time grieving over a world that wasn’t even mine anymore.

I swallowed my tears for my old home, determined not to let them surface again.

For the next hour, I took a slow walk around the village, remaining inside the walls for the time being. All the while, I memorized the location of key facilities – the privies, the healer, the merchants, even the guard posts. This version of Haven was a bit larger than had been in the game, and I suspected Skyhold would be the same way. There were lots more people, too, and the sounds of their voices and varied activities created a solid din of noise that buzzed in the air. No one seemed to pay me any mind as I looked around; I guessed that newcomers were a common sight in and around Haven, especially fresh joiners to the Inquisition.

After I had circled around the perimeter of the village and found myself back where I started, I headed towards the Singing Maiden to grab something to eat. I remembered that I had skipped breakfast in my haste to get Josephine’s meeting over with, and my stomach was growling particularly loudly by the time I finished my walk. Noticing the tavern was fairly empty at this odd hour, I took the same seat I had occupied the day before and gladly accepted what the barkeep had available at the time. As it happened, Flissa had made rather delicious-looking sandwiches from day-old bread loaves and finely-chopped ram meat, smothered in gravy made from the juices of the leftover stew. As I anticipated, it was simple, but to die for.

At least I knew I’d eat well here.

I made sure to swipe up every last bit of gravy that dripped onto the plate with the thick crust so as not to waste anything, and on my way out, I complimented Flissa on her cooking skills. She blushed rather intensely, but thanked me before occupying herself with cleaning a dirty flagon. Once outdoors again, I noticed it still wasn’t too far into the afternoon, yet, and so I decided to take a peek outside the walls. The gates were open, with people coming to and fro rather regularly, and so took a seat on the bottom step, close to the edge and out of the main path. Once settled, I looked about to take note of the village surroundings.

Again, everything was almost the same as in the game, just…bigger. The stables in particular were _much_ bigger, already housing several horses for the primary members of the Inquisition; I wasn’t sure just where horsemaster Dennet was going to put all those extra mounts when he ultimately arrived. Beside the stables, the forge took up a larger area, and there were many more workers there, all hammering away at anvils or sewing freshly-tanned leather.

In the opposite direction of the forge, I noticed there were also many more tents and a far more expansive practice area. The soldiers training there were divided into several squadrons of about thirty men and women each. Every unit was overseen by an officer, sometimes another soldier and sometimes a Templar. Cullen himself was supervising one as well. All of them were doing something different, making the whole situation very much a case of organized chaos.

I watched them all with mild interest for a time. One unit was performing calisthenics, the officer in charge barking repetitions. A lot of the moves looked like ones I would do in a gym back home…pushups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, that sort of thing. Two other units were occupied with weapons training, mostly with practice swords. Cullen’s unit was finishing up more advanced practices involving group cover and wounded comrade retrieval. Behind them was a line of archers taking shots at dummies that were backed up against a snow bank.

After a while, Cullen dismissed the unit he had been overseeing and reached for a waterskin at his hip. As he took a drink, his head turned in my direction, and for some stupid reason, I impulsively waved at him with a slight smile on my face. He stopped, noticing me, and he lowered his waterskin, but he didn’t return the gesture.

My smile faded.

Internally, I was cursing myself, even as I tried to casually look away, staring holes into the cliffs beyond the frozen lake.

 _What in the hell were you thinking? You’ve been in Haven less than two days…he’s_ not _going to be friendly to you…_

I had all too conveniently forgotten the fact that I was still thought of as, at worst, a Fade-touched madwoman and, at best, a helpless damsel mooching off of the Inquisition’s goodwill. But stupid me had seen a familiar face turn my way and automatically reacted like I would to someone I had known for years.

Technically, I _had_ known him for years. But he didn’t know me.

_Stupid idiot…_

I huffed loudly and stood, yanking my cloak tighter around me and stomping off in the direction of the stables, turning my back on the training area so my eyes wouldn’t accidentally fall on the Commander again. I focused on the crunching of pebbles and snow underfoot so I didn’t have to listen to the berating thoughts screaming inside my mind. I kept my head down and my eyes on the path; I might have passed a couple of scouts on the way, but I wasn’t sure. When I finally stopped, I found myself on the bridge across the ice-covered river, looking up at the Breach that hovered where the Temple of Sacred Ashes had once been.

I shivered as the wind picked up and chilled me, and I sniffled as it bit at my nose. Knowing me, I probably looked like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer by now. Fereldan I was not.

The Breach swirled and swirled, like a glowing hurricane in the sky, and I was oddly calmed by the movement…like watching a lava lamp, I supposed. It struck me as odd to feel that way about something that had initially signaled the destruction of the world, but because of the Herald’s dumb luck, was now just a reminder of an unfinished job. Frowning, I wondered how long he would be gone. The game hadn’t really indicated the time it took to get to Orlais, and I remembered the actual size of Thedas being debated, especially amongst the fans. I guessed maybe one to two weeks before he and his comrades returned from Val Royeaux. If so, that would feel like a long time, especially with the lack of trust amongst the Inner Circle and nothing constructive to do to take my mind off of it…

“Mistress Tamsyn?”

A questioning voice broke me out of my thoughts. Glancing to my left, I saw an elven woman looking at me with large green eyes.

“Yes?”

“I am to tell you that your bath is ready, mistress,” she answered me with a bow. Before I could even thank her, she then spun on her heel and quickly strode away, likely to deliver another message or return to whoever she reported to.

An eagerness filled me, and I quickly followed after, heading straight for my cabin to investigate.

When I finally arrived, I noticed that some furnishings had been added while I was gone. Two pillows had been set at the head of the bed, and an extra blanket lay folded on top of the mattress beside my bags, which remained untouched. The wooden bath tub, lined with a cream linen cloth, had been set in front of the fireplace, which now crackled merrily with orange flames. Candles had been placed on every available surface and lit, casting a warm glow anywhere the light of the fire didn’t reach. The whole place looked much cozier than it had before, and I felt myself smile at the sight.

The door didn’t have a lock, but it _did_ have an iron bar latch that I secured to make sure no one barged in on me.  I then made my rounds to each of the windows to close and latch the shutters. Once satisfied no one could disturb me, I quickly undressed and loosened my hair before approaching the tub with my supply bag in hand, dropping it beside the towel that lay on the floor. The tub was filled almost to the brim with water, and I dipped a finger in to test the temperature – warm, but not too hot. As I tentatively stepped into it, I could see myself in the warped glass of the mirror in the corner, and I winced as I noticed my skin was still blotchy with dark bruises all over my body.

I slowly sank into the water, an audible sigh escaping me. As I eased into a sitting position, the water rose until it almost overflowed. Despite this, I managed to dunk my head under to wet my hair without making too big of a mess; whatever dripped onto the floor, I was sure the warmth of the fire would dry out. I leaned backwards and stretched my legs out, spending a few moments merely luxuriating in the bath as its warmth seeped into my chilled bones and numbed the bruises somewhat.

The next thing I knew, the water was getting cold. I wasn’t sure whether I had fallen asleep or not. Frowning, I rummaged in the supply bag for my soap, withdrawing what I assumed was the razor with it. I looked at my legs. I was certain that this item was probably intended for men, as I guessed that Fereldan women weren’t accustomed to shaving their legs – that sounded like an Orlesian and Antivan thing. But I wasn’t Fereldan, Orlesian, _or_ Antivan, and I certainly wasn’t going to go around feeling like a barbarian because of the local medieval culture.

So, I gritted my teeth and attempted to shave my legs.

 _Attempted_ being the key word.

I, being the modern person that I was, had been accustomed to using an electric shaver all my life, at least on my legs. So, suddenly having to utilize this rather dangerous-looking method was intimidating to say the least. But I had to try.

I cut myself several times before I was finished. _Five_ , to be exact – three on one leg and two on the other. I don’t think I ever used so much profanity in one sentence before. Each slice in the flesh bled profusely, enough to make me concerned that whoever fetched the bath water was going to wonder just what exactly I had done with it. I tossed the razor aside. Grumbling and hissing all the while, I bathed and washed my hair, rinsed, and then stepped out to towel myself dry. The amount of blood on the cloth made it look like I had murdered someone. And I just knew the servants would have a good gossip about it.

I wrapped myself in the spare blanket and sat before the fire to help my hair dry. I had already made up my mind to stay in the cabin for the rest of the evening; there was enough food rations in my other bag to keep me fed until morning. My first full day in Haven, though nothing remarkable, was exhausting, and I didn’t feel like heading out into public again. The Nightingale’s Eyes would have to wait until tomorrow to resume their watch.

And I knew they would.


	8. Chapter 8

_Knockknockknock._

“Mistress Tamsyn?”

I struggled to wake up upon hearing the insistent banging at the door and the calling of my name.

_Knockknockknock._

“Mistress Tamsyn?”

“Just a minute!” I managed to call back through the lingering haze of sleep. “Call” being a loose term, mind you; it sounded more like the moan of a dying cow. I was _not_ a morning person and never had been…not without at least two cups of strong coffee in my system. Fat chance of getting any of that here.

I had fallen asleep the night before still wrapped in the blanket I had dried myself in, with the other one draped on top of me. Carefully, I slid out of bed and padded my way to the door barefoot, holding the blanket tight around me for modesty. Unlatching the door, I opened it and peeked out just enough that my face was exposed.

“Ye- _whoa!_ ”

The person knocking had just lifted her hand to do so again and almost knocked me right in the nose. She immediately shied away to avoid hitting me, and it was then I recognized her as the same elf who had let me know about the bath the day before. She looked down and focused on her slippered feet, stuttering out her apologies, “Oh! I-I’m terribly sorry, mistress, I-I didn’t think-”

“It’s okay…no worries,” I reassured her, realizing just how much I sounded like Rylen at that moment. “What is it? Do you need something?”

“Oh, well,” she shuffled her feet a bit and gave me a lopsided, nervous smile in response, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her pointed ear. “I just was sent to tell you that the tailor is ready to take your measurements at your earliest convenience, mistress. That’s all. Good day.”

With that, she quickly bowed to me like she did the day before and turned to leave, but I stopped her on a sudden impulse.

“Hey, wait…what’s your name?” I called after her.

She turned back, looking completely and utterly flabbergasted at hearing the question. Her eyes were wide as she answered, “I…ah…my name is Lea, mistress.”

“Lea?” I repeated. When she nodded affirmatively, I smiled and answered, “Thanks, Lea. And you don’t have to call me ‘mistress.’ Tamsyn’ll do.”

Her green eyes grew even wider; she was obviously not expecting such treatment from a _shem_. I studied her quickly as she stood there in shock, and she didn’t _look_ to be physically abused; she was clean, apparently well-fed from her stature, and she didn’t bear the marks or posture of a servant who had been ill-treated, at least from what I could see of her. But she _did_ carry herself with the same meek deportment of most oppressed city elves who had served humans for generations.

I didn’t want her to feel like she had to behave like that around me. I wanted her to feel like my peer, especially if she was going to keep delivering messages to me – not like I was someone she had to bow and scrape to just because I was human. Someone who actually saw her as an equal, not a lowly servant.

“A-As you wish…Tamsyn,” Lea finally stammered out before spinning on her heel and striding away, her gaze focused on the ground in front of her. I watched her a bit before closing the door again. She somehow reminded me _a lot_ of myself: the embarrassment at a near-offense, the overwhelming need to not make a mistake. I may not have been able to make myself feel better about all this, but if I could somehow set another’s mind at ease, I’d gladly settle for that instead.

I dressed myself quickly, deciding to go ahead and go down to the forge. _Best not to keep the tailor waiting_ , I thought. I didn’t know the time, but from the position of the sun in the sky, I assumed that it was fairly early in the morning. Maybe six or seven AM? Even at that, judging from the noise outside the cabin, it seemed everyone in Haven had awoken well before me. I sincerely wished there was some means of telling time here…a sundial or an hourglass or _something_ …

Once dressed, I left my cloak and bags on my bed and stepped out, headed for the gates. Along the way, I caught a glimpse of the back of Cullen’s furry mantle, and I watched as he headed past the inner palisade towards the trebuchets that were currently being constructed.

 _Little bit too soon for calibrations, then_ , I thought with a smirk before continuing on my way.

The smithy was abuzz with activity, just as it had been the day before. Apprentices ran to and fro, ferrying supplies to the craftsmen and finished equipment to armor and weapons racks. Hammers struck anvils in an almost musical rhythm, accompanied by the slosh and hiss of freshly forged blades being plunged into troughs. I dodged a few workers as I searched for Harritt, assuming he would give me details, but the master smith was nowhere to be found. After a few minutes of glancing between hurried workers, I heard a small voice ask, “You need sumpn,’ miss?”

I looked about to find this person, but couldn’t see who had addressed me. That was, until I felt a tug on my breeches, and I finally looked _down_. There stood a pie-faced young boy, his countenance spattered with freckles and smeared with soot. He peered up at me with liquid, sapphire eyes and a lopsided smile as he waited for my answer.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied, unable to keep from smiling back at him. He was adorable. “A messenger sent for me. She said the tailor was ready to take my measurements. Do you know where they are?”

He nodded emphatically. “Yes’m.” Then, he wordlessly turned away, and I followed as he led me around to the front of the building beside the forge and pushed his way inside. I peeked in after him to see a heavyset woman, perhaps in her thirties, sitting in a creaky wooden chair with a pile of woolen breeches in her lap and a needle in hand. She glanced upwards upon hearing the door open, and she squinted at the boy.

“What’s it, lad?”

“Missus needs measurements.”

“Oh, right. Let her in and run along, now.”

“Yes’m.”

He ducked out, and I tentatively entered the one-room house, letting the door shut behind me. The woman set aside her work and stood, looking me up and down. “You Tamsyn?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am,” I replied with a dip of my head.

She grinned, and I noticed one of her front teeth was missing. “Nice to meet you. That’s my boy, Sean. He helps keep everyone headed in the right direction at the forge.”

I nodded in understanding. “He seems like a nice kid.”

She chuckled heartily at that. “He is, Maker bless ‘im.” She then gestured to me with a wave of her hand as she turned towards a table behind her, stacked with papers and equipment. “Go ahead and strip to your smallclothes, miss, and I’ll review what Threnn sent over.”

I glanced around to gauge how private this was going to be. The windows were shut, at least. I just hoped no one decided to walk in on us. Huffing out a breath, I did as bade, quickly removing my oversized clothes and dropping each piece to the floor for lack of a place to put them.

“Right…let’s see…aha. So you’re in need of…a uniform, a set of nightclothes, two casual wears, and a breastplate? You must be higher up on the ladder to be gettin’ all that.”

I froze halfway through pulling one pants leg off, eyes wide from registering just how much I was going to get out of this one clothing order. Josephine must have added those extra pieces on her own. “Ah…well…I don’t know about that, really,” I finally answered. “My position is, um…as of yet undetermined.”

As I straightened, wearing only my underwear now, she turned back towards me with a piece of chalk, shears, and yarn in hand. I raised my eyebrows. So _that_ was how she was going to measure me?

“All right, miss. Raise your arms. I’ll be done before you know it.”

She didn’t lie. The woman took measurements of the circumference and length of almost every part of my body faster than I could even register it happening…each time done by marking the string with the chalk and then cutting it to the appropriate length with her shears. I noticed she put the cut pieces of yarn on her table in a very specific order, likely to remember how to label them later. Thankfully, she didn’t remark on the fading bruises that yet covered my body, or the scabby slashes on my legs.

“Right. All done,” she said at last, a significant pile of yarn on the table. “You can put your clothes back on now. We’ll get on this as soon as we can and have a messenger let you know when you can pick it all up. Don’t expect it until next week sometime, though. We got a lot of breeches to repair and uniforms to sort out.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

I dressed myself once more and headed back outside – quickly, so I could free her up for another job. I hadn’t even cleared the threshold of the small building when my stomach growled loudly, demanding satiation. Noting the time, I realized this was the first opportunity I would have to obtain a proper breakfast since arriving in Haven. To the Singing Maiden, then…

But when I entered the tavern, I was greeted by a larger-than-usual crowd. I briefly wondered if it was due to the time, but it took only a few minutes of listening to chatting soldiers standing around waiting for a seat to find out the real reason why – _eggs_.

It hadn’t occurred to me that such food was not already here, until I remembered that Varric had mentioned ram was the only meat currently available. Now, it seemed some nearby farmers with their prized laying hens had at last arrived in Haven to support the cause, and the off-duty soldiers were scrambling to get some of their produce before they ran out that morning.

Pardon the pun.

Realizing the troops and workers both were probably starved for some semblance of a “real” breakfast, I hung back in the rough line, letting others go ahead of me until I heard Flissa’s call that they were out of eggs. When I finally made it close enough to put in my own request, I only asked for bread and a little ale to wash it down; I didn’t need as much as they did, with what little I was doing around the place. Just enough to stop the hunger. I received my order quickly, and I was just looking around to find an empty space when I at last spotted one…

At Rylen’s table.

He must have sensed someone looking at him, because he immediately lifted his head and spotted me through the throng, waiting for an opening to be free. He then lifted a hand and beckoned for me to come over. I felt my cheeks heat up, but I obeyed, dodging a few scouts to slide right into the chair opposite the Knight-Captain.

“Hey, thanks,” I said, pulling my chair in with the scraping sound of wood on wood. His Inquisition helmet lay beside him on the table, his dark hair an unruly mass and falling into his face as he looked down at his plate, which was filled with eggs, a chunk of bread, and what appeared to be sliced sausages.

“Not a problem, lass,” he replied at length, stabbing a few scrambled eggs with his fork. He didn’t seem to know me at first, which had me a bit relieved. I didn’t want to relive the embarrassment of the privy incident if I didn’t have to. But when he looked up again, he seemed to recognize me in full at last, and I gave him a sheepish smile in response as I inwardly winced, bracing for his inevitable teasing.

“Well, now,” he remarked with a chuckle, “Fancy ah… _running_ _into_ _you_ again, eh?”

I pressed my lips together. “Couldn’t resist, could you?”

He laughed aloud, then. “Just ribbing you a little, lass. No hard feelings.” He then extended a hand to me over the table, “Rylen.”

 _No titles_. Smiling politely, I took his proffered hand. “Tamsyn.”

His gloved fingers had barely closed over mine when recognition dawned in his grey-blue eyes.

“So you’re that girl who says she’s from the Beyond, aren’t you?” he asked after a breath, giving my hand a slight shake.

I squeezed back before letting go and replied with a sigh, “Yeah. That’s me. I’m guessing the Commander told you all about me already.” I tore off a piece of my bread as I awaited his answer, the force of the motion betraying my annoyance at the direction of the conversation.

“All that he _understands_ ,” Rylen clarified, returning his attention to his breakfast. “Which is, admittedly, not that much.” He and I both took bites of our respective meals, and the amount of silence that followed led me to believe he would say nothing more about it. But then, after a minute, he leaned forward at me with a knowing look and asked quietly, “So…where are you really from, hmm? We’ve got people from all over, I don’t think they’d judge you too badly.”

My gaze was flat as I met his, and I swallowed the dry hunk of bread I’d been chewing. I had to take a sip of ale to get it down fully before answering, “Where I told the Commander at the council meeting. I’m not lying…Knight-Captain Rylen of Starkhaven.”

He leaned back, and the friendly softness of his expression began to melt away. Everything about his countenance became a little sharper, even his mouth, and the tattoo down the bridge of his nose seemed only to emphasize its slight hawkishness. I could see the doubt in the glitter of his eyes, though, so I kept going. I figured at this point there was no harm showing off a little, and I knew whatever I told Rylen would get back to Cullen in a heartbeat. Perhaps it would get them all to thinking a bit more and assuming a bit less…

I looked down at the table as I tore off another bread hunk. “You’re the son of a stonemason…joined the Templars to make something of yourself. You rose through the ranks rather fast, and when the Kirkwall disaster hit, you were sent there to help with the relief efforts. You met Cullen there, and when Knight-Commander Karsten decided to rebel against the Chantry, you and your friends remained loyalists and were later recruited into the Inquisition by the Commander himself.” I paused and added, “Oh, and your favorite dish is Starkhaven’s famous fish-and-egg pie.”

His brows rose, and he stared at me a good few moments as I chewed my second bite of bread. His grey-blue gaze studied me intensely, and I suddenly had no problems imagining him at a Circle Harrowing. Then, his eyes narrowed and he answered, “Any spy worth their salt could have found all that out.”

I washed down the bread again. “Yeah…but what spy in their right mind would give themselves away like that?”

“One trying to convince me they’re from the Beyond.”

“Will it help to tell you you’re gonna get your own fort someday?”

He blinked. I smiled. _Crack that doubt, Tamsyn._

“In the Western Approach…?” I added, tearing off more bread.

“What? You’re…you’re crazy,” he said, shaking his head as he forced himself to refocus on his meal, obviously wanting desperately to ignore me at this point. Even so, I could tell that he was perturbed by what I had said, and not in the sense that he thought I was a liar. His mannerisms betrayed worry and uncertainty, not anger or lack of acknowledgment.

“So I’ve been told.”

He fell silent, then, half-heartedly poking at the eggs on his plate. Deciding it was probably best to make an exit right about now, I quickly finished my bread and ale and stood. “Well, thanks for sharing your table with me, Knight-Captain. I do appreciate the hospitality. Better finish those eggs before they get cold.” I pushed in my chair, and he didn’t even bother look up at me. Leaning forward, I added, “Oh, and you might want to pass along that information to the Commander and think about what it might mean for your little Inquisition. Maybe it’s not going to be quite so little after all, you think?”

With that, I left.

\------------------------------------------------------

For the next week or so, I tried to maintain a low profile, doing little but remaining in my cabin where I would bother no one. Remarkably, the general populace still hadn’t associated me with “that girl from the Beyond,” like Rylen had, meaning the good Knight-Captain had likely kept his mouth shut about it to everyone but Cullen. Which, as far as I was concerned, was a good thing. People in Thedas were a superstitious lot, I knew. Medieval-level superstitious. Meaning, after some of them found out about where I claimed to come from, they would either shun me, try to kill me, or both. The longer I could go without either problem to contend with, the better.

Nothing of note had occurred in that week, and that suited me just fine. I had finally settled into a routine, eating three meals a day at the Singing Maiden, taking a bath every few days or so (which the servants managed entirely on their own), and things were beginning to look all right for me. Comfortable, even.

But, of course, that’s when I noticed something a little different about myself.

I wasn’t dreaming.

Anytime I lay my head down to sleep, I would drift off to utter blackness, and the next thing I knew, it was morning again. At first, I had chalked it up to sheer exhaustion during my first few days in Thedas; I knew that if I got tired enough, even back on Earth, I wouldn’t have dreams. But after nearly a week with no dreaming at all, not even the slightest little bit, I began to get suspicious.

Was it because I wasn’t born in Thedas? I wasn’t naturally connected to the Fade, so I didn’t dream there? It seemed as logical an answer as any. It was a puzzle, and yet, at the same time, if true, it was also something of a comfort; if I didn’t dream in the Fade, I wouldn’t be exposed to demons as much. And maybe it meant I was safe from Solas’s snooping, too. At least, I hoped. In any case, I decided to keep this bit of speculation to myself, along with my encounter with the little wisp in the Fade. They didn’t have to know _every_ little thing about me.

Speaking of snooping, it was exactly a week from the day when the Herald and his company had departed for Val Royeaux that I received a summons from Leliana via a messenger. I had been sitting on the ground outside my cabin with my eyes shut, just enjoying the clear, crisp air that presaged the approach of winter and the feel of the warm sun on my face, when I heard the sliding grind of pebbles under boots that signaled someone was approaching.

I opened my eyes to see a scout heading towards me. He smiled slightly as he neared, his pace casual and unhurried, and though I couldn’t tell much about his face for the armored hood he wore, I could see even from a distance that his eyes were a striking electric blue.

“Tamsyn?” he greeted me, stopping a few paces away.

“Yes?” I stood, brushing the dirt off of the seat of my pants and taking a deep breath in anticipation.

“Inquisition Scout Strider,” he inclined his head as he introduced himself. “I’ve a message for you from Sister Nightingale. She requests that you meet with her at the lake within the next hour. She said it was of great significance to you.”

_Uh oh._

“All right then…Scout Strider,” I nodded my thanks with a small smile, trying to hide my anxiety. “I’ll go see her right away. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he dipped his head, mirroring my smile with his own.

I sighed heavily as he left, trying to shrug off the nervous butterflies in my stomach. I had a feeling this would go one of two ways…really good, or really bad. And I could only pray to the powers that be for really good. Steeling myself, I strode for the gates to get it over with, hoping for a more pleasant conversation than the one I feared would occur. I assumed it had something to do with her ongoing investigation about me, and thus I expected the meeting to be less-than-friendly.

I found her at the edge of the lake closest to the forge, her back to the town as she looked out at the mountain-ringed expanse of wilderness across from the settlement. Her arms were crossed, and she didn’t turn to look at me, even as I knew she heard me near, my oversized boots crunching earth and snow.

“Sister Nightingale?” I asked tentatively. “You requested to see me?”

“Yes, Tamsyn. I felt it only right to let you know that I have ended my search into your background,” she answered as I cautiously drew up beside her, her eyes remaining focused on the snow-covered crags as she spoke. “You were correct; my agents could find nothing on you. And believe me, it was not for lack of effort.” She paused, and then added, “So…that means you have either covered your tracks so well that I cannot find a trace of your true origins, or you are telling the truth about what happened to you. In all honesty, the former is harder to believe than the latter. But the latter…disturbs me greatly.”

I felt myself smile a bit, a weight lifting from my shoulders at her words. “I can’t say your news doesn’t give me relief, Sister Nightingale, despite the fact I know I am innocent. But, if I may ask, did you ever _really_ believe I was a spy? I mean, Josephine told me that you had your doubts because of my…well,” I chuckled a little, “lack of _finesse_.”

That made her crack a small smile, and she glanced sideways at me with her sharp blue eyes, “Yes, well…the best spies are always successful at convincing others they are not _capable_ of performing espionage in the first place. But honestly? My gut told me that you weren’t one, and I was certain that it was right. And yet I couldn’t ignore my head telling me that I _had_ to make sure. There is too much at risk here for gut feelings to be proven wrong.”

“And that bit about the Fade rift didn’t explain some things? I mean, what spy in their right mind would go so far as to risk being attacked by demons to get close to the Inquisition?” I asked.

She sighed. “Our enemies are capable of and willing to perform a great many outlandish feats to get to us. To hear of a spy doing such would not be surprising in the least.”

I raised my brows and glanced away. I certainly wouldn’t be one of those people – no amount of money granted by _any_ patron would convince me to plop down in front of an open rift and risk death or possession just to infiltrate an enemy organization.

“In any case,” she turned towards me fully then, “We will have to wait and see what Cassandra says about the Herald’s mission to Val Royeaux before we can know how to proceed with your contribution to the Inquisition.”

Suddenly, there was a distant caw, and Leliana looked upwards in the direction of the sound, squinting against the sun. “Ah! Looks like there is something now…”

She held out her gloved forearm, and a raven plummeted towards us from above in a rush of wings and raucous cawing, a tube-like leather holder attached to its legs. Once it landed and Leliana relieved the bird of its cargo, it took off in the direction of the Chantry with another noisy flap of ebon feathers. I watched silently as she then opened the tube and withdrew two pieces of rolled parchment, which she unfurled with a curious gaze.

“Hmm…” she mused quietly as she absorbed the contents. “Well…that is…” After a few moments, her thin brows rose, and she looked at me long and hard, an unreadable expression on her pale face. Then, glancing back at the parchment, she shook her head slowly, as if in disbelief. “You have certainly made both Cassandra and the Herald rather anxious. I would explain, but I think it is best you read their letters yourself.”

She extended the papers to me, and I took both pieces carefully. But when I focused on the words written there, I found they were utterly indecipherable. The parchment was covered in runic symbols scrawled in black ink, some larger than others, some sloppy and some neat, but I had no clue as to their meaning. My stomach plummeted to somewhere around my feet. I had no idea I wouldn’t be able to read the so-called “common tongue,” the most common language of Thedas. This was bad. This was really, _really_ bad.

“Sister,” I began, eyes wide as I looked back up at her, “I…I can’t read it.”


	9. Chapter 9

“You can’t read it?”

The Nightingale’s tone betrayed her own surprise as she repeated my words of shock. Honestly, I should have known this was going to be a possibility. But for some reason, the thought had never crossed my mind until now. The fact that I had not been faced with reading anything until over a week after arriving in Thedas was something of a miracle in and of itself.

“No,” I said quietly, shaking my head as I thrust the papers back at her, their fluttering edges a sign of my tumultuous emotions. I could feel my cheeks burning in embarrassment at my own lack of foresight. This new revelation had set me back quite a bit; I couldn’t afford to have future long-distance messages read to me out loud all the time because I couldn’t read them myself. What if someone tried to trick me? I’d never know the difference. I could easily be duped if there was no one trustworthy to reinforce what was conveyed to me via word of mouth.

“But you _have_ been formally educated, from what Josephine tells me…so you _can_ read and write, yes?” Leliana asked as she took the papers from me with a gentle hand, and I noticed she was regarding me with a much softer expression than I had yet seen her wear. Did she actually feel sorry for me? The woman whom she just now gave up on uncovering as a spy? The woman whose very existence in this world she had a tough time accepting?

I swallowed hard. “Yes, but not this.”

She stepped back from me and glanced away, looking thoughtful as she slowly rolled up the parchment again, the vellum scraping softly against her leather gloves. Then, suddenly, she turned back to me, and I could see the gears working behind her eyes.

“In any case, this new information requires a meeting in the war room. The others need to know about the contents of these messages just as much as you do, and we will also need you to tell us exactly how we can proceed from here, especially considering it seems we will be heeding your advice much more in the future. Let us take two birds with one stone, no?”

I felt my eyes widen. Leliana was just inviting me to an actual war room meeting. In an advisory capacity. Without the Herald present. And she was hinting at more meetings to come.

Had I done it? Had I proven myself innocent? The fact I couldn’t see what the Herald and the Seeker had written for myself made my literacy situation all the more frustrating.

“You’re serious?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I knew it was dumb to question her too much, but it was just so…

A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, as unnerving as it was encouraging. “I am. If nothing else, these letters prove that Cassandra trusts you, now. And if she does, then so do I.” She huffed out a sigh and added, “It is time we set aside our suspicions and move forward…we can work out the challenges that your presence presents our faith and common knowledge later.”

If my eyes got any bigger, I was sure they’d fall out of my head. The surprise no doubt etched onto my face must have been a humorous sight, as she chuckled and added, “This is what you wanted, no? To be trusted enough to help us plan ahead in exchange for your security?”

“Well, yes, but…”

I halted as she gave me a knowing look. “You didn’t anticipate it being quite so soon. I understand. But these letters should dispel any lingering doubts anyone might have about you. I hate to keep you in suspense, but if I am going to have to read it out loud to you, I don’t wish to repeat myself later when explaining matters to the others. Come. To the Chantry, then.”

I wordlessly followed in the Nightingale’s wake as she began striding with purpose for the gates. All the while, I could barely hide my elation that things were beginning to work out after all. They were actually going to trust me and let me help them, despite their doubts and fears…it seemed nothing short of an absolute miracle. I couldn’t wait to hear what Cassandra and Maxwell had written. Everything I had said would occur in Val Royeaux must have indeed happened – that was the only thing that could have convinced them.

It wasn’t a minute before we passed the sparring area, where Leliana briefly paused and called out, “Commander!”

Cullen was observing what appeared to be a parry training routine between two lines of recruits, and he immediately looked our way upon hearing the spymistress’s call. Even at this distance, I could tell he was glancing between us curiously. She answered his quizzical expression with a simple, “War room! Urgent news from the Herald!”

Brows rose and arms unfolded. A quick nod to the Templar lieutenant at his side, and he was off, heading towards us with lengthy strides. Leliana kept going and I followed close behind her, but I knew the commander would catch up to us in no time at his ground-eating pace. Keeping my eyes ahead of me, I felt my stomach flop like a fish in a net, and I wondered if Cullen had been made aware of the Nightingale’s abandoning of her research on me yet. Despite Josephine’s reassurances, I was certain that the good commander would be the last person to actually trust me to be what I said I was. And, for some reason, that made me almost irrationally nervous.

To be honest, bad memories of the first war council meeting still lingered in the back of my mind. I knew then they’d all be leery of me, of course; I had expected it and had tried my best to steel myself for their inevitable reactions, up to and including the possibility of being thrown behind bars. And yet, the simple fact of being declared a madwoman by the commander had irked me…riled me faster than Cassandra’s disbelief and Leliana’s suspicion combined. I didn’t know why – the Herald and Rylen had said it to me, too. But there was something about the finality with which Cullen had suggested it, writing me off as not just crazy, but some sort of joke…

_Or maybe it’s just because Cullen said it._

I swallowed. I could hear the crunch of his footfalls and the tiniest jangle of the chains at his ankles as he followed behind me. I didn’t turn to look, and he didn’t say a word, but I could _feel_ his presence there, like a wall at my back.

Maybe it was simply because it _was_ him. Maybe it was because I had gotten too used to the soft and sweet side of his character I had seen through his romance arc countless times. Maybe it was because, this time, he was real, and what he believed about me would make or break whatever relations we had during our tenure together. There would be no going back and replaying. There would be no reloading a save.

We kept walking through the village, and I was almost unaware of the journey as I kept thinking. What did I expect our relations to become, given time? Merely professional? Or actual friendship?

Or…romantic, even?

I blinked. He would certainly be available, given the world state, if things stayed close to their in-game parameters. But I wondered if that freedom was, at the same time, a limitation; perhaps he was meant to be a bachelor forever if unromanced by the Inquisitor, unpaired with anyone. That made my heart pang a little. He didn’t deserve to be alone, cut off from love forever.

_And what I wouldn’t give to be the one to keep him from that fate…_

My thoughts stunned even me. I shook my head a little to clear it and pressed my lips tightly together.

_Get real, Tamsyn!_

I forced myself to refocus on the present. Right now, he was only an acquaintance, if that. I’d be lucky if we ever considered ourselves friends at this rate, especially considering how many secrets I had to keep and what disasters were coming down the pike – ones I knew about and couldn’t dare share for fear of the world-changing consequences.

You know…like Corypheus’s ever-looming attack on Haven.

I inwardly shuddered at the deep fear that boiled in my gut. He was going to hate me. God, they all would. No matter how much I adored Cullen’s character, he would never feel the same way about me once certain events took place. That I was sure of. If I managed to hold on to my advisory position after the fall of Haven, it would be another miracle.

But then, I felt that voice of reason whisper in the back of my mind.

_They’ve given you the benefit of the doubt so far…you could have been in irons for a week, but you weren’t. You were given a house, baths, new clothes, and free rein of the camp._

That was the one thing that gave me hope. Despite my worries about how the advisors would react to me, they had, in all actuality, been very good to me. Doubtful about my words and intentions, sure, but not enough to imprison me. I prayed with all my might they would continue to be open-minded and understanding, even through the tough times.

And maybe, just maybe, I could get through this ok.

I exhaled, trying to shrug off my tension with my breath as we entered the Chantry, and it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Mother Giselle gave us a smiling nod as we passed her, but said nothing to us. As Leliana paused to retrieve Josephine from her office, Cullen continued on and into the war room, but I stayed outside of it, unwilling to enter and endure the awkward silence that would surely ensue with just the two of us there alone.

Once Josephine left her office, her face bearing an expression of almost uncontainable curiosity, the rest of us entered the war room at last. Each advisor took his or her respective position, and I carefully made my way forward, filling the space Maxwell would have had he been there. It felt very strange, standing in the same place my characters had so many times in my games. Experiencing it in reality was nearly overwhelming, and I pulled my hands behind my back to hide their anxious fidgeting.

“Well,” Cullen began at last, looking to Leliana with mild interest, “now that we are all here, what is this about?”

“Yes, what news from the Herald?” Josephine asked, cocking her head at the Nightingale.

Leliana unrolled the parchment she held once more and nodded to me, “It’s probably best if I just read these aloud to you, especially since we’ve discovered that Tamsyn here cannot decipher the King’s Tongue. She deserves to know what is said here as well, particularly considering it has such an impact on her future.”

Cullen cast me a raised eyebrow of mild interest while Josephine’s lifted in surprise. “You cannot read the common language of Thedas? I suppose you feel lucky you can understand us at all.”

“We will work something out later,” Leliana replied. “For now, I’ll begin with Cassandra’s letter, since it reveals the most about the current situation.” She smiled wryly and added, “And I’m not omitting _any_ word.”

Then, clearing her throat, she began to read:

“ _Leliana,_

 _The girl was right. About all of it. Revered Mother Hevara was waiting on us at Val Royeaux, just as Tamsyn said she would be_. _And she did try to apprehend us, too. Thank the Maker her plan failed. But what Tamsyn didn’t tell us was that she would try to use the damned Templars to do it._

_The face that Tamsyn said I would recognize but not truly know? Lord Seeker Lucius Corin. He was leading the Templars in the city. Apparently, they had been recalled there at Hevara’s request. But just as Tamsyn said, he refused to do her bidding. Instead, he abandoned Val Royeaux, but not before one of his followers punched the Revered Mother to send a clear message. I cannot say the woman didn’t deserve it for her hubris, but the way Lucius and his men conducted themselves was unbecoming of them. This is not the man I once knew as Lord Seeker, nor the quality of men and women he should be leading. They are thugs, not Templars._

_Lucius himself denounced both the Inquisition and the Chantry. He refused to speak to us of closing the Breach, claiming we would do nothing but fail. Instead, he led his Templars from the city, on the premise of earning true respect and independence for the Order. I fear it is not that simple. The rant he spewed at us before he left spoke of the need for power, and I sense that he is gathering the rebel Templars together in order to consolidate it. But I cannot guess where he is going in order to do so._

_Our trip did bear fruit in other areas, however. After the Lord Seeker’s obnoxious display, we were approached by Grand Enchanter Fiona, no less. She has invited us to Redcliffe to talk about the Breach and enlist the help of the rebel mages instead. I do not know if this is a better course of action than investigating the Templars. I would like to discuss it more upon our return, which should be soon. By the time this letter reaches you, we will have already left for Haven again._

_The Herald also garnered a few more allies, as Tamsyn suggested he would. First Enchanter Vivienne of Montsimmard and an elven rogue who calls herself Sera. I do not have much to say regarding either of them at the moment. I am sure that the Herald will elaborate further in his own report. Needless to say, we have obtained more helping hands, and that is something that is always welcome._

_Speaking of such, I will be honest with you, Leliana. I do not know if Tamsyn really is what she says she is. I cannot know for certain whether or not she is a woman from another world any more than I can know for certain that Lord Maxwell Trevelyan is the Chosen of Andraste. But now, I do believe the same thing about her that I believe about the Herald – that the Maker has sent her to us to help us. That she is the right person at the right time. We need her. We need her foresight in order to succeed. To prepare ourselves for the trials that lie ahead and to make sure we do not stray from the Maker’s path. Why else would we have been blessed with someone who knows what the future has in store for us? Her knowledge, however she knows it…we need it._

_Give her an advisory position. Ask her for help. And most of all, listen to her. We will speak of this more when we return._

_~ Cassandra._ ”

At last, Leliana stopped reading, and the war council was suddenly very quiet – so quiet that I could hear the subtle moving of the loosely-slung scabbard at Cullen’s sword belt and the swishing layers of satin as Josephine shifted from one foot to the other.

“Well, I do believe that settles that,” the ambassador said at last, nodding in acknowledgment to me.

“Yes,” Leliana nodded. “I also feel it pertinent to say that I have halted my investigation into Tamsyn’s background. I made the decision _before_ receiving Cassandra’s letter, of course, so that should help reassure you that I do not believe Tamsyn poses a threat to us.”

At that, Cullen sighed, and he looked at me directly in the eyes, nearly knocking me over with the intensity of his gaze. “If you have the trust of the Left and Right Hands, then you have mine as well.”

“And mine, of course,” Josephine added with a smile.

They were silent again, as if awaiting my answer, and I suddenly felt incredibly overwhelmed. I glanced between them all, swallowed heavily, and nodded back, “Thank you. It means a great deal to me. That you trust me. I promise you, just like I did before…I will do my very best to steer you right.”

“These allies that Cassandra mentioned,” Josephine turned her attention to Leliana, which caused Cullen to take a step backwards to allow her to speak to the Nightingale without being physically obstructed. “Did she say First Enchanter Vivienne?”

“Yes,” Leliana affirmed, switching to the other piece of parchment in her hands, “and a rogue named Sera. The Herald’s letter explains what happened with them in more detail. It also mentions you specifically, Tamsyn.”

My brows rose, but before I could respond in any other way, she started to read again:

“ _Inquisition,_

_Cassandra is giving you an official report on our activities in Val Royeaux, but I thought I would add a few notes regarding our new allies._

_I think Tamsyn will be pleased I found her messenger and arrow._

_The messenger brought me to the estate of Madame Vivienne de Fer. She calls herself the leader of the “last loyal mages,” and she has offered her magical talents to the Inquisition, as well as her extensive knowledge of Orlesian politics. I think she will prove to be a valuable asset to the cause, although I am concerned that she may later attempt to use the Inquisition for political clout. I recognize her mien as that of one with unceasing ambition. She was rather…insistent that she be allowed to join our cause. Perhaps Josephine and Tamsyn can offer insight?_

_As for the arrow, it led me on a merry chase, and the trail ended at an elven woman named Sera. She supposedly has a group of “Friends” who can provide us with valuable information on what she calls “big people,” which is apparently anyone with a noble title. Their full name is, according to her, the “Friends of Red Jenny.” It sounds like a borderline criminal syndicate, but I thought they might provide Leliana with an advantage we would be foolish to refuse. Sera herself has also joined the cause, and I must say that she is very nearly mad. But she seems to have good intentions, so that’s something, yes?_

_Madame Vivienne and Sera have joined us on our return trip from Val Royeaux and are eager to introduce themselves._

_~ M. Trevelyan_.

_P.S: If it helps, I have already asked both of them about Tamsyn. Neither knows of a woman by her name or her description, so I don’t think she could have arranged this ahead of time. I think she’s telling the truth._

_P.S.S: Solas is babbling more about the Fade than usual and is rather anxious to speak to Tamsyn when we get back._ ”

I pressed my lips together upon hearing about Solas. _I bet he is_ , I thought. Better prepare for trouble…

“Madame Vivienne is indeed an adept player of the Game,” Josephine said at length. “Though, she is also a rather controversial one. The age at which she became Enchanter was scandalous, and her subsequent relationship with Duke Bastien de Ghislain even more so. Further, she has turned the normally laughable position of Imperial Court Enchanter into a rather serious one. She has the ear of Empress Celene herself, which has made her a valuable ally to many in the court. For that reason alone, it would be unwise indeed to refuse her aid. But it would also be unwise to think she would not use her position with the Inquisition to her advantage.”

I nodded, confirming Josephine’s words. “Yes, she will use her connections with the Inquisition as political leverage, sooner or later. But the Inquisition itself won’t be harmed from it. She will just further her own status.” It felt a bit awkward jumping into the conversation again without being asked for my input, but it seemed only natural that I do some affirmation if their assessments were on the mark.

“If the First Enchanter is openly guiding the Loyalist mages, then her joining us could actually grant us more credibility,” Cullen remarked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he spoke.

“Yes,” Leliana agreed, “which brings us to the avenues Cassandra mentioned. On the one hand, we _could_ try to pursue the Templars further. Find out what the Lord Seeker is doing and why, and if we can convince him to help us.”

“I can’t imagine what he might be thinking,” Cullen observed. “He seems to have lost all reason.”

“Lady Cassandra mentioned that the Lord Seeker seemed to be after a position of power,” Josephine added. “An alliance with a stronger Inquisition might satisfy his ego…perhaps after we secure a few more alliances with established nobles? Of course, we would only negotiate _after_ he brings his Templars to close the Breach.”

Cullen shook his head, “That is all entirely speculative, at this point. I’m not sure the Lord Seeker could be persuaded at all. He already publically denounced us. How would more noble alliances change his mind?”

Josephine gave him a wry smile, “The promise of connections can change many a mind, Commander. Especially an ambitious one.”

“What do you say, Tamsyn?” Leliana asked. “Can the Templars be persuaded?”

I huffed out a breath, “They can. But you could also seek out the rebel mages. Both parties can resolve the issue of the Breach equally as well.”

Cullen’s brow furrowed, “So you are saying there are two paths to choose from? How is that possible? If this whole situation is like a book to you, then how can there be different routes to the same outcome? That sounds unlike any book I’ve read.”

“I…well…it’s complicated,” I finally managed to answer, feeling my cheeks heat up with my anxiousness. “Suffice it to say, the reader can choose many different paths at different points along the way. Some lead to the same ending. Others lead to slightly altered results. That’s why I said in our first meeting that I wanted to help you achieve the best outcome possible. There’s actually a variety of ways this story ends, with different endings for many of you.”

“And you want to help us reach what you think is the best ending…for each of us? Not just the Inquisition as a whole?” Leliana’s brow was raised in surprise.

“Yes,” I nodded emphatically.

“And for now, you are certain that pursuing either the mages or the Templars will result in the permanent closing of the Breach?” Josephine inquired.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Though, I have to say…you’ll need quite a bit of influence to approach either group to actually seal the deal. Grand Enchanter Fiona’s invitation is one to talk…nothing more. No agreement will be reached immediately at Redcliffe, just like there was no agreement at Val Royeaux with the Lord Seeker. The Inquisition’s reputation will have to be built up a bit more for either side to feel they can no longer just give you lip service. That task will fall to the Herald.”

“I’m curious…why can’t we go after both? Why does there have to be a choice?” Leliana asked, her head cocked a little in a manner that reminded me much of the nugs she liked to raise.

“Aside from the fact that bringing the core groups of the rebel mages and rebel Templars back together here in Haven could result in a massacre?” Cullen replied flatly.

“Well, there _is_ that,” I said with a slight chuckle in acknowledgment of his very legitimate concern. “But mainly, it’s a matter of timing. It just so happens that two… _very important_ events will take place roughly simultaneously regarding the mage and Templar strongholds. The Herald has to be at one of them, and there will be no time for him to get to the other before…” I sighed, “Well, before the other meets its fate.”

“‘Meets its fate’?” Josephine repeated, her eyes widening over her tablet’s candle. “Meaning that whichever side isn’t chosen…?”

“Is destroyed,” Leliana supplied. “That is what you mean, isn’t it?”

“More or less, unfortunately.”

“What is going to happen?” Cullen pressed, looking me right in the eye again. God, it was hard to keep secrets when he did that. It made me feel so tiny and exposed, all at the same time.

I sighed again, frustrated that I couldn’t explain it better. “Something disastrous, obviously. But I’m afraid I can’t supply details. Not now.”

“ _Why_ can’t you? We could save more lives…”

“And change the world to the point I could no longer predict future events,” I reminded them. “So I’d be utterly useless.”

“I would be thankful that she is telling us anything at all, Commander,” Josephine observed pointedly. “She came to us willingly. She could just as easily have gone somewhere else and left the Inquisition to its own devices. Instead, she came here to help us.”

Cullen’s lips thinned, but he fell silent.

Leliana crossed her arms. “So you’re saying we ultimately have to choose which side we want to save and which we want to abandon?”

“Pretty much,” I nodded. I felt like a bobble-head with as much nodding as I was doing.

Silence. All three advisors looked one to the other. I could tell they didn’t like this at all; the air was heavy with tension. In an attempt to clarify, I took a breath and added, “Since the Breach is closed either way, you’re really deciding not only who you want to ultimately save, but also visibly support. The eyes of every Thedosian government are on you right now. Who you choose to side with and preserve alongside the Inquisition will reflect on the organization as a whole.”

“So if we choose the Templars,” Cullen mused aloud, “we would garner the trust of everyone who respects them.”

“The people respect what the Order _stands_ for,” Josephine corrected, “but not necessarily these Templars who are currently following the Lord Seeker. Cassandra herself said that these Templars were little more than thugs.”

“Not all of them are that way, though,” I said, leaning forward on the table with the tips of my fingers. “There are many Templars among them who are just…lost. They’ve nowhere else to go. Even more have been essentially coerced by their fellows into going along with the Lord Seeker’s orders.”

“And what about the rebel mages?” Leliana asked.

“It’s much the same situation,” I answered. “Although the Inquisition is more likely to get an overwhelmingly negative response from the general public if you choose to go with them.”

“It would most certainly set us in opposition to the Chantry even more than we already are,” Josephine agreed. “However, it would also suggest that we are striving towards change.”

“But not necessarily in a good way,” Cullen remarked. “We might make people feel _less_ safe, and we’d be back to square one trying to earn everyone’s trust.”

Leliana looked at me. “In any case, how long do we have to make this decision?”

I shrugged again, “It depends. There is quite a bit of expansion and support work that needs to be done, and you also need to gather a few more allies. All that can only be handled after the Herald gets back.”

“Well, then,” Josephine glanced to the others, “I suppose we’ll have to continue our discussion when they return. In the meantime, we can think about our options and which approach is most appropriate.”

The Nightingale then turned to the ambassador. “Josie, let’s go to your office, shall we? There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

“Of course,” Josephine answered with a grin, making her way around the end of the war table. They both then made to leave the room, and I turned to follow after them, when, of a sudden, Cullen stopped me.

“Tamsyn, I would like to speak with you for a few moments.”

_Uh oh…_

I slowly turned back around to face the commander with a tentative smile. He still stood in his spot across the table from me. The door closing behind me was almost excruciatingly loud as it slowly creaked and clanked shut, and I approached the table again hesitantly.

Here I was, alone in Haven’s war room with Cullen Rutherford. If this was a fanfiction, who knows what would happen now…

“Yes, Commander?”

His grip flexed on the pommel of his sword. “If we are to work together as colleagues, then I feel there is something I must get out of the way.”

He paused, then, glancing away with brow furrowed, and I knew from his mannerisms that whatever he was about to say was either well-thought out beforehand, or he was struggling to come up with the right words on the spot. In either case, I knew that had to be somewhat important from the way he was acting.

“I…actually wanted to apologize.”

My brows shot upwards, and I reflexively blurted, “You _what?_ ”

The corner of his mouth twitched a bit in amusement. “In our first meeting, I’m afraid I didn’t behave quite like I should have. I immediately dismissed you as a madwoman, or at the very least, a liar. Not that several of the others didn’t do the same, but even when you explained yourself, I didn’t _want_ to entertain the possibility you might be telling the truth. I was callous, and…inconsiderate of your recent experiences. Even if I did not understand your circumstances, or found them unbelievable, that did not mean they were untrue. I am sorry if I caused you any more grief than you have already suffered due to my lack of tact.”

I knew I was staring wide-eyed at him at this point, but I couldn’t help it. I had expected nothing like this. I tried to answer, and it was as if my vocal cords had ceased to function. At last, though, I managed to stammer, “I-I…well…thank you. I mean, I can’t say it didn’t worry me a little, but…thanks.”

He dipped his head. “I won’t apologize for my actual suspicion, however. You _know_ why we must be careful.”

I nodded in understanding, “Yeah. I mean, it’s not every day someone stumbles out of the Fade from another world with claims of knowing what the future holds.”

“Thank the Maker,” he chuckled, and I found myself sheepishly grinning back at him.

He began to move around the war table, indicating his desire to leave, but I found myself rooted to the spot, watching him in expectation. After a moment, when he was almost around the end of Josephine’s side of the table, he asked casually, “So…if this really is like living a story for you, I can’t help but ask – how does fiction compare to reality?”

My response was almost immediate. “It doesn’t.” But then his paused stride and raised eyebrow made me realize just how ambiguous that sounded, and I hastily added. “It’s better. Much better.”

I was treated to his infamous smirk, then, and it suddenly felt as if I were standing two inches from Harritt’s forge. He was literally a foot away from me, wasn’t pissed off at me anymore, and was actually joking with me.

_I swear to God, if he doesn’t leave the room soon I’m going to die._

“Good to know we are living up to expectations, then,” he finally replied with another dip of his head.

At that, he turned and pushed through the doorway, leaving me to stand in the war room alone, watching the door slowly close once more and struggling to come to grips with what exactly had just happened.


	10. Chapter 10

Cullen was almost completely out of the Chantry by the time I regained my senses enough to move from the position in which my feet had been firmly rooted. When I finally pushed through the door to the war room myself, I noticed Minaeve jogging to catch up with him and calling for his attention, a huge stack of papers in her hands – research for the troops, no doubt. I wondered what sort of toxins and diseases she had taken notes on lately, probably from the beast remnants Maxwell had brought back from the Hinterlands…

“Tamsyn?”

A soft voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I suddenly noticed Mother Giselle looking at me rather curiously, the gold of her hat glinting in the torchlight.

“Oh, uh, yes, Revered Mother?” I asked, wondering what it was she wanted. I hadn’t expected to be approached by her.

She suddenly smiled, a small nod indicating that my answer was an affirmation that she had gotten the right person. “Simply a message to pass along – Sister Leliana and Ambassador Josephine asked me to tell you that they would like to meet with you as soon as you are free.” She gestured to Josephine’s closed office door.

“Oh, I see,” I replied. “Thank you, Revered Mother. I will go talk to them now.”

“Of course.”

I bowed a little to her, as I thought was polite, and she inclined her head in kind. I then turned and made for the office, wondering what was on the two women’s minds so soon after the meeting. When I entered, I saw they were both on the opposite side of Josie’s desk, heads close together, speaking in hushed tones. Upon hearing the door open, they suddenly and simultaneously glanced up at me, Josephine offering me a warm smile of greeting.

“Ah, Tamsyn. Do come in. We were just discussing the matter of your literacy. Or, rather, the lack thereof.”

“Yes,” Leliana nodded. “We have both agreed that it is something we need to remedy, and quickly.”

I sighed, letting the door fall closed again behind me. “It _is_ a little worrisome.”

“Indeed,” Josephine agreed. “It is a weakness we cannot allow to continue. There will be times when we need to communicate at long distances, and we do not want to have to rely on anyone else to deliver that message to you.”

“It’s too risky,” Leliana added as she straightened, crossing her arms. “For all of us.”

I pulled my hands behind my back, glancing between them. “Well, what do you have in mind? I don’t exactly have a shortage of time, but the rest of you,” I laughed a little, “that’s another story.”

“First, we need to see what it is you _do_ know how to read,” Leliana said, beckoning for me to come closer. “That way, we can better judge how easy it will be to teach you. There are several alphabets and scripts in Thedas. Perhaps if we approach it from what appears closest to your own language, it will be easier for you to manage.”

“The Commander was right about one thing,” Josephine remarked, taking a fresh sheet of parchment from the stack on her tablet, “We are lucky she can understand us at all. To think her verbal language and our spoken common just _happen_ to be the same…”

Leliana’s eyes sparkled in the torchlight in obvious amusement, and she cast me a wry smile as she answered, “Well…if this _is_ all a story she’s read before, then that makes sense, no?” I mirrored her smile at her keen observation. Then, I realized that Cullen’s point had likely been the same sentiment that confused Leliana so much when I told her I couldn’t read the writing on the letters – I had been speaking the common language the whole time.

The spymistress’s words seemed to momentarily stun Josephine into silence, her mouth briefly hanging open as comprehension dawned within. It was an unusual expression for the ambassador to display, but quite brief; she quickly realized her unlady-like appearance, closing her mouth so abruptly I thought I heard her teeth click. Then, shaking her head as if to clear it, she pushed the blank paper and her quill-and-inkwell towards me. “Here. Write a few words in your tongue and let us see how it looks.”

“Okay,” I answered tentatively, gingerly taking the elegant black feather pen in hand. I thought for a second about what to write before carefully dipping the tip of the pen into the ink and scratching out rather awkwardly in printed English: _My name is Tamsyn Ashworth_.

Cringing at my handwriting, I carefully put the pen back in its well and turned the paper around so that they could see it clearly. “Not my best for sure, but-”

I was cut off as they exclaimed as one: “ _That’s Orlesian!_ ” Their voices were practically squeals, bouncing off of the stone walls and making my eardrums dance in my head.

“‘ _My name is Tamsyn Ashworth!_ ’” Josephine read aloud, her hazel eyes wide and an uncontrollable grin spreading across her face. I found myself just as shocked and excited as she was, glancing between the two women as I was completely at a loss for words. They could read it? Really? I could write…Orlesian, apparently?

“Common tongue in the Orlesian script…Tamsyn, you _can_ read. Just not the common alphabet,” Leliana explained, her own smile equal parts surprise and mischief, with perhaps a dash of suspicion flashing for but an instant before it vanished.

“Maker….this is absolutely _astonishing_!” Josephine whispered, her voice tinged with awe and excitement as she read the words to herself again.

“And it certainly is convenient,” Leliana added pointedly, moving around the ambassador’s chair and heading towards the near bookshelf. I watched as her slender gloved finger passed over a few spines before she ultimately withdrew a tome, flipped through a few pages, and then turned to me, extending it towards me. “Here…can you read this?”

I took the book carefully. Its cover was weathered brown leather, stamped in flaking gold with the Chantry sunburst. It smelled old. The scent was wonderful, instantly recalling memories of my old university library. I opened the book to its first page, eyes scanning the thin parchment, and I felt a smile spread across my face.

“The Chant of Light,” I replied, my smile widening as I read aloud, “‘ _New Cumberland Edition, distributed at the behest of Her Perfection, Divine Justinia V_.’ Well, Sister Nightingale, I can definitely read _this_.”

“Excellent.” Leliana then moved towards the door, striding with purpose. “That will make this much easier. One moment.” She pushed out of the office, and I wondered where on earth she was going and for what reason. I briefly glanced back at Josephine with a questioning look, and the ambassador merely shrugged, obviously unaware of what the spymistress was thinking. After a few moments, the Nightingale returned from the room across from the office with yet another book in hand of similar size and craft. This tome she proffered me as well, explaining, “This is the Chant in the common tongue, the same edition as the Orlesian one. It should be a direct translation.”

“A brilliant idea!” Josephine observed as I took the second book, understanding now what Leliana intended. “You can read them side by side…”

“…and learn much faster,” I supplied, flipping through the first few pages.

“Which you _will_ need to do,” Josephine continued, her tone becoming serious. “Despite the fact you can write in what just so happens to be Orlesian script, the common tongue is common for a reason. It is the most accessible language in Thedas, and its writing system is the most widely used method of communication…utilized for everything imaginable, from correspondence to road signs.”

I closed the second copy of the Chant and hefted both books into the crook of my arm. “So, who uses the Orlesian script, then?”

“Primarily nobility,” Leliana replied. “It is a prestigious practice in the upper class; a sign of education and culture. It is also a convenient way to ensure that nosy servants are unable to decipher the contents of the letters they pass back and forth.”

“But don’t the Orlesians have their own spoken tongue as well? In addition to their alphabet?” I asked, “If I recall, it is very similar to another language from my world. Not the one I was born and raised speaking, but one I was taught a little bit of.” Native Orlesian, as I understood it, was practically the same as French, with maybe a few variations here and there. It was definitely in codex entries, and I remember Maryden had even sung it in Val Royeaux, as alternate variations to her usual songs. I knew a little French from college. Maybe that would help somehow…

“Oh?” Leliana’s brows rose, “And what does _that_ language sound like?”

“Well…” I grimaced as I struggled to remember what I had learned during the pitifully few French courses I had taken, and I slowly pulled together a sentence from my foggy memory. “Um… _Parlez-vous ma langue?_ ”

At that, Leliana shared looks with Josephine and shook her head in disbelief.

“So she can speak Orlesian, too.”

“Not very well, mind you,” I clarified, “I never was good at that language. French, it’s called, in my world.”

“This is _very_ interesting,” Josephine remarked, scribbling away on her tablet as she took notes on the situation. “Tamsyn, you are in a unique position to deal with Orlesian nobility in a way that could help the Inquisition _immensely_.”

A bemused and knowing expression flashed across the Nightingale’s countenance. “Thinking of adding her to your ranks of diplomats, are you, Josie?”

“With some training, Leliana, I think it is a _definite_ possibility.”

I coughed nervously, “Uh…I think I’d rather just stick with learning common for now…”

Leliana chuckled at my reaction, “Yes…let’s not thrust you into the middle of the Grand Game just yet. I will look around and see if there are more books with direct Orlesian and common translations. If I find them, I will be sure to send them your way.”

I nodded my gratitude. “Thank you so much, Sister Nightingale. I will study these as often as I can in my spare time, and I promise you that I will take care of them.”

“Good.”

At that, I turned and made for the door, but when I was halfway out, Leliana called for me to wait. I turned around again, and she closed the gap between us quickly, lowering her voice as she bent closer and added, “Before I forget…this knowledge you have. I know we cannot stop people from talking, and written communications between us can always be intercepted, but I feel it is a card we should try to keep close to our chests. If our enemies were to know about you, and what kind of information you can provide to us, who knows what lengths they would go to in order to capture you. Or even kill you. Just something to keep in mind.”

I nodded quickly in my understanding. I knew exactly what she meant. She wanted me to keep myself to myself as much as possible. The fewer the people who knew about where I was from and what I knew about this world, the safer I would be, and thus, the safer the Inquisition would be as a whole. It was a sobering thought that added more gravity to the situation, but I knew she was right.

But despite the meeting ending on such a serious note, I left the Chantry with a lighter heart than I had felt since I arrived in this strange, unbelievable, and dangerous world. I was now an official advisor for the Inquisition, and I was on my way to being literate and possibly fluent in not just one Thedosian language, but two.

_Go me._

\------------------------------------------------------

I spent most of the afternoon holed up in my cabin with the two copies of the Chant of Light, vigorously studying each line by line. Now that I had something to do, something important that would help both me _and_ the Inquisition, I was eager to get to work. And I had little time to waste.

Unlike the “Orlesian” script, otherwise known as the Latin alphabet in the real world, the common tongue was a system of streamlined runic letters. I remembered reading somewhere that common had originated from Thedas’s various dwarven tongues and evolved over time, and so I assumed that its alphabet was the same way, with added generations worth of simplification. I noticed right away, though, that it was not a direct letter-for-letter translation when put side-by-side with Orlesian. The common tongue appeared to have standalone and combined runic letters for entire words and even certain phrases. I ended up going back and reading the same stanzas over and over again just to get a grip on when runes were merely letters and when they were entire words. By the time my evening bath rolled around, I hadn’t even gotten through _Threnodies_ _3_ yet, and my head was throbbing.

This was going to take a while to get the hang of, for sure.

The next morning, after eating an early breakfast at the Singing Maiden, I planned on diving back into my studies with renewed vigor. But upon returning to my cabin, I found a rather large, loosely-wrapped parcel waiting for me on my bed. As I closed the door, I cocked my head curiously, wondering what it might be and who it was from. And then I remembered.

 _My clothes_.

Hurrying over, I excitedly pulled at the loose paper wrapping to see what was inside. I couldn’t wait to put on something that actually fit me instead of the baggy, oversized garments I wore now. It would be fantastic not to have shoes that rubbed my feet raw every day, or sleeves and breeches that had to be held up by other articles of clothing…

On top of the pile was the promised breastplate, perfectly polished and flashing brilliantly in the sunlight streaming through a crack in one of the shutters. It was like the ones the foot soldiers wore, just without the gorget or the mail to wear underneath it. I passed my hand over the Inquisition emblem that was engraved upon it, and I felt a smile pull at my lips. I couldn’t believe something like this was real and that it was mine.

Setting it aside, I looked further to find a thin cotton nightgown, off-white in color, with a wide boat neck and an empire waistline. It had loose long sleeves, and the skirt of it reached to my ankles. There were no embellishments, not even buttons or ties, but I didn’t care; it beat wearing only my underwear to bed any day. Next was the first casual garment – a simple chemise and surcoat with a pair of basic doeskin slippers. The linen chemise was light brown and, like the nightgown, bare of adornments save for the small line of plain buttons on each forearm. The surcoat, on the other hand, was of much heavier russet wool, lined with a dark brown fur on the inside. Both articles had been cut to my ankles just like the nightgown, presumably for ease of movement. Or so I wouldn’t soil them as quickly.

After the first casual set had been folded the second – a brown linen tunic very similar to the one I already had, plus a pair of dark green woolen breeches and brown knee-high boots, also made of soft doeskin like the slippers. All entirely functional; no excess adornments, just like everything else.

And then, finally, I reached the uniform itself. Heavy and consisting of many pieces, it had been placed on the bottom of the pile. There was a high-collared waist-length jacket, much like Threnn’s, made of thick charcoal grey wool, quilted and trimmed in what appeared to be tawny rabbit fur for warmth. The matching dark grey breeches were made of some kind of leather, almost exactly like those that were part of the Inquisitor’s outerwear. Tucked underneath these main pieces were two burgundy satin sashes – one to wear across the breast from shoulder to side, and the other for tying at the waist. At the very bottom was a pair of black leather gauntlets, cut to forearm length, and supple black leather boots like those worn with the formal attire at Halamshiral: thigh-high, with reinforced knees and decorative silver buttons down the outside of each calf. There was even a pair of softer woolen stockings, to be held in place on my legs by tiny garters. And to top it all off was a matching wool pillbox-style hat trimmed in the same fur as the jacket. The fur itself was cut into a V on the front so that the Inquisition logo on a silver pin was clearly visible there.

I took a step back from it all, realizing I was grinning like an idiot as I immediately started stripping down to my underwear. Not a second more would I wear these oversized hand-me-downs, as much as I appreciated Scout Harding giving them to me. The only things I planned on keeping were the belt, bracers, and cloak; the rest would go to the tailor to be fitted for someone else or used as scrap material.

Once down to my smallclothes, I paused for a moment, thinking about which outfit to wear. It was still early in the morning, and I still had work to do. Work for the Inquisition.

Uniform it was.

The breeches were form-fitting to say the least. Though I was happy they weren’t too long and actually sat at my waist without the need for a belt to hold them up, they were also quite snug. I looked at myself skeptically in the mirror, turning this way and that, my eyebrows rising further with each angle. Yep, I definitely had a butt in these. A butt that the jacket wouldn’t be able to hide like my tunic had before. I wasn’t sure exactly how I felt about that…I’d never voluntarily worn tight leather pants like these before, certain that I could never pull off the look. Perhaps even literally.

Sighing, I moved on to the jacket. I noticed there was no undershirt to go with it, but then I realized that it was quilted enough I probably didn’t need it. The padded shoulders and high collar did much to improve my appearance, hiding what I had always considered my absurdly long and skinny neck. Then, trying to remember how they had looked on the formal attire, I put on the sashes – first the one that crossed from my left shoulder to my right side and pinned together, then the second one that wrapped and tied on top, hiding the waistline of my jacket and keeping the wind from getting in the gap.

After, I donned the stockings, secured them in place with the garters, and pulled on my boots. If my feet could have sighed their relief, they would have. Having shoes that fit felt absolutely divine. Having well-made shoes that were snug, warm and soft – but also sturdy – was utter bliss. I spent a good minute just walking around the cabin, relishing the sound of durable soles on wood and the streamlined feel of the leather that encased my legs. I could definitely get used to this.

At last, I pulled on the gauntlets, marveling at how well they fit. Once they were properly in place, I wiggled my fingers; surprisingly, they were flexible and taut enough to write in. Experimentally, I moved to take one of the books from the table where I had been studying the day before and opened it, flipping through the pages. It was a little difficult not being able to feel the parchment on my fingers, but the leather didn’t get in the way of turning the leaves.

Giddy with excitement, I turned back towards the mirror, smoothing my ponytail and grinning at my reflection.

I had gone from the look of a ragged refugee to a professional in a single change of clothes. I actually looked like I _belonged_ with the Inquisition now. Not to mention the cut was flattering, and so were the colors. I briefly wondered why the ensemble wasn’t the customary dull orange and green of the soldiers and scouts. Instead, it was closer to the official Inquisition colors of charcoal and red. And was the design all Josie’s decision or the tailors’? Or Threnn’s, even?

A sudden knock at the door broke me out of my thoughts. Straightening everything a final time, I hurried over to the door and opened it…

…and I was immediately greeted by a certain scout’s intense electric stare.

“Oh! Scout Strider!” I exclaimed. Jesus, did he realize that his eyes were like a damn slap in the face? “I, uh, wasn’t expecting a visit. What do you need?”

He smirked a bit in response to my surprised greeting, and I was close enough now to tell that he had ruddy cheeks and a splash of freckles across his slightly crooked nose. “Not precisely what _I_ need, Lady Tamsyn. I think this is more a matter of _your_ needs. If you would, come walk with me to the practice field and I’ll explain along the way.”

I blinked. “Oh…all right then.”

Curious, I stepped out of my cabin, closing the door behind me and then following in the scout’s wake. He wasn’t much taller than me, but he covered ground quickly, so much that I almost had to jog to keep up with him. I supposed that explained his alias.

“Sister Nightingale said that she was concerned about your lack of combat capabilities,” he began as I caught up to him, taking huge strides to maintain a position beside him. “She asked that you be trained in archery, as she believes you would be well suited to it and would prefer such a method of self-defense. Much more so than melee.”

“ _What?_ ” I blurted out, eyes widening as I looked sideways at him in utter astonishment.

He chuckled then and asked, “Is that about the training itself or the reasoning behind it?”

“Both!”

He led me down the entry steps and smiled again, “Sister Nightingale said that you mentioned not being able to fight. She thought that you would have an aversion to training with close-quarters weaponry and would feel more comfortable learning to defend yourself from a distance. She’s an excellent judge of that sort of thing, you’ll find.”

“Yes, I get that part, but…you’re saying I don’t have a choice?”

“I’m afraid not, Lady Tamsyn. Both the Nightingale and Commander Cullen insist you know the rudimentary arts of personal combat. If I may be honest, it seems they fear for your safety now that you have joined the upper echelons of the Inquisition.”

My brows nearly hit my hairline.  I knew Leliana was already concerned about my origins and knowledge getting out to the enemy, but…did they expect me to become a target so soon?

I didn’t have much time to contemplate this, however, as Strider continued, “The Commander, naturally, openly disagreed with the Nightingale’s assessment.” He leaned closer as he walked and added quietly, “You didn’t hear it from me, but he’s arranging a trainer from his own men to meet with you sometime later today. He believes you should be practicing with melee weapons much sooner.”

I sighed. Great. So Leliana and Cullen were already fighting over how to teach me self-defense and I had no choice but to follow their whims. Oh well. Not like I had much else to do between war council meetings besides get a handle on the common tongue. Part of me wondered if Josephine was going to insist on some sort of “training,” too. Something like _How to BS a_ _Noble_ 101.

At last we reached the archery practice area, which consisted of a small row of targets behind Cullen’s main training ground. All the other marksmen were conveniently absent, either already gone for the day or yet to arrive. That made me feel a tad better knowing the only one who was going to witness my epic failure today was Strider. Unless Cullen took a break from his work to watch me.

I felt my cheeks burn. _Dear God, please don’t let that happen._

“One moment,” Strider said as we stopped in front of the targets, about twenty feet away from them. He moved to where a number of supply crates were stacked, and he produced a rather simple looking bow as well as a quiver of practice arrows. Then, approaching me again, he proffered both items to me, the arrows rattling a little as he did so. He noticed my apprehension as I gingerly took them, and he laughed a little. “It’s all right, Lady Tamsyn. You’ll be an expert in no time, I’m sure.”

But if the results of that morning’s session were any indicator, Strider had just told me the biggest, fattest lie I’d ever heard.

After running me through the basics of proper posture, anchoring, and all the other technical aspects of bowmanship aside from just drawing and firing, he let me thoroughly embarrass myself by making me empty the quiver into the targets in front of me over and over again. So there I was, awkwardly fumbling for arrows in my gloves, struggling to repeatedly draw the string (even though he told me the weight was the lightest they had), and trying my best to aim correctly but somehow managing to screw it all up. Any time I _did_ hit one of the targets, it seemed to be a stroke of pure luck. Countless times the arrows went skimming on either side and even above the damned target, and when they did hit, they hit the outer rim, barely hanging on to the packed hay and waving in the breeze.

It would have been comical had the situation not been so serious. My first honest attempt at learning to defend myself in this world, an endeavor that was deemed entirely necessary by two of my colleagues, consisted of me being completely incapable of hitting the center of stationary targets twenty feet in front of me. For all of my efforts, I had earned absolutely nothing but aching and burning shoulders, quivering arms, and blazing cheeks from frustration and humiliation.

Strider, bless his soul, was infinitely patient. With every round, he offered encouragements, bits of advice, and friendly reminders. After the final round came to a blessed end, two hours after we had begun, he approached to take the bow and quiver from me and offered reassuringly, “Not a bad first practice, my lady.”

By that time, I was too incensed to watch my tongue. “Bullshit. That was fucking terrible and you know it.”

He chuckled, “Believe it or not, I’ve seen worse.”

“Were they blind?”

“You certainly would have thought.”

After he had stowed away the bow and quiver, he squinted upwards at the sky and then asked casually, “Singing Maiden for lunch?”

I felt my brows rise. He actually wanted to have lunch with me despite witnessing my easily-flustered self put on a display of utter incompetence?

“Sure,” I replied with a shrug, slowly turning and walking side-by-side with him out of the practice area. Thankfully, it appeared Cullen and his lieutenants were still immersed in their work, though who knows how often they had paused during the course of those two hours.

“Excellent.”

We went in silence for a few moments, the only sound the crunching of the dirt underfoot. I was still too upset with myself to feel like speaking very much. We had reached the gates of the settlement before I took in a shaking breath and finally asked, “So, Sister Nightingale wants me to do this every morning?”

“Every morning,” he confirmed with a nod, his eyes fixed on the path ahead as he answered me. “Prior to this, my mornings consisted of message running, as you probably remember. Now, though, I am to meet with you for practice around the tenth hour every day.”

“And which do you prefer?”

“Honestly? This. At least I feel like more than just an errand boy.” He paused a moment, brow scrunching as if he realized how condescending that sounded, and added, “Well, not that errand boys don’t do important work around here. But it’s not very exciting.”

“And watching me butcher the fine art of archery is?” I snorted.

He chuckled lightly again. “Actually, I rather enjoy the teaching process. It’s exciting to watch someone go from novice to expert with just a bit of guidance…to know that you helped someone learn something important and helped them grow as a person.”

“Oh.”

I fell silent again, and we had nearly reached the tavern when I remarked curiously, “So, I imagine the Nightingale can keep you rather busy. What else do you do besides train me, now?”

He sighed. “Well, in the afternoons, I’m part of a regular patrol that goes out around the Temple ruins to check for demons. It’s just a precaution, actually. Nothing ever happens. Or at least, it hasn’t yet, thank the Maker.”

I nodded in understanding, “That’s good.”

We entered the tavern then, Strider holding the door for me as I ducked inside. The Singing Maiden was packed with patrons because of the time, but we managed to squeeze our way through the crowd to a table in the corner before anyone else called dibs on it. There was an overwhelming odor of leather, polish, and sweat, above which hovered notes of braised meat and alcohol. Lunch itself consisted of a chunk of roasted ram and dark bread, which we both devoured ravenously. Neither of us spoke during the meal, preferring to immerse ourselves in satisfying our growling stomachs for the time being. That was, until I lifted my tankard to take a drink and nearly sloshed it all over myself because my muscles were shaking so badly.

I felt my cheeks burning again as I clamped my other hand onto the mug to keep it still while I took a sip. When I looked up, Strider was fighting back laughter, his ruddy countenance getting even redder as he bit his lip to keep his mirth contained. The tankard _thunked_ loudly as I set it back down on the table none-too-gently, and this just caused Strider to laugh harder.

“ _The look…on_ _your face!_ ” he wheezed.

“Shut _up!_ ” I hissed, but was unable to keep myself from laughing in response to his mirth. It _was_ rather funny. In a pathetic sort of way.

That just caused him to laugh out loud, then, the sound bursting out of him. Strider pushed back his armored hood, and I noticed that he had a shock of messy dark brown hair, matted from his headgear. I shook my head, waiting for him to finish before I finally remarked quietly, “Yeah, I know. It’s terrible.”

“I’m sorry,” he managed to gasp out, “I really am, I just…I didn’t expect that practice to weaken you _quite_ so much.”

“Yeah, well, neither did I. Hence my face.”

“Really, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh,” he said apologetically, taking a steadying breath and straightening in his chair as he recovered, “But…perhaps _you_ should.”

My brow rose at his words, and he explained, “You were very upset earlier, during your practice. And that, in turn, hurt your performance. Your emotions made you miss that target more than your lack of experience did. Instead of being angry, _laugh_ at yourself. Allow yourself that moment of humor at your own expense, and then resolve to get better. And you _will_ get better.”

“I…” I trailed. I certainly didn’t expect this to become such a profound teaching moment. Strider had gone from laughing at me to trying to make me feel better about myself in the space of two seconds.

I didn’t have much time to contemplate this change in tone, however, as someone’s shadow suddenly passed over the table. I looked up to see another, similarly garbed scout standing there, staring between us, a sort of absentmindedness in his expression. Unlike Strider’s startling electric blue gaze, this man’s was more of a soft periwinkle hue, and his eyes were almost unnaturally large.

“Um,” I began, hoping to prompt the scout.

“Jim!” Strider interjected, “What are you just standing there for, man?”

Jim. The scout’s name was Jim.

 _Dear God in Heaven, sweet Maker, Andraste’s flaming knickers._..

He was real. Scout “Jim” was real. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Oh, I was uh, ahem,” he cleared his throat loudly, and he looked somewhat agitated. “Just waiting on Lady Tamsyn here to finish her thought. I’ve been told I interrupt too much, sooooo…” he rocked back on his heels a little and bounced as he offered me a sheepish grin.

_This is hysterical._

“No, go ahead…Jim,” I replied, trying desperately to hide my amusement. “I uh…lost my train of thought.”

“Oh, well…right,” he dipped his head to me. “Commander Cullen requested your presence. He’s on the practice field right now.”

Strider glanced back at me with a knowing expression, and I nodded in understanding. Time for more training. I stood, then, giving Jim a smile of thanks, “All right. I’ll be there shortly.”

Jim spun around and disappeared into the crowd as I turned back towards Strider, pushed in my chair, and added, “Good luck on your patrol, and I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Strider grinned, “You bet. See you then, my lady. I look forward to it.”

I then left the tavern with both curiosity and apprehension balling themselves up in my stomach. Jim was already long gone, but I suspected I would be seeing much more of him in the future. I still found his name to be highly amusing; how funny was it to have such a silly fandom headcanon very much affirmed? I shook my head. If he somehow managed to conduct himself according to those same headcanons, then the poor man would never catch a break. Ever.

Hurrying out to the training grounds again, I found Cullen with arms crossed, as he was wont to do, seemingly in a deep discussion with a female soldier of roughly the same stature as Cassandra. They stood together near his tent, away from the main throng of recruits, who were being overseen by Rylen and a few other officers at the time. As I neared, Cullen glanced my way and offered me a small smile and nod of acknowledgment. As I smiled back, the expression automatic, I could feel my cheeks heating up despite my concentrated effort to keep my emotions in check.

_Damnit, Tamsyn, stop it!_

“Ah, there you are,” the commander said at last, reaching sideways and holding the flap of his tent open, “let us talk for a moment in private. Corporal?”

I couldn’t help but be a bit surprised at his words, but then I realized the soldier was going to be there with us after she ducked into the tent first. I followed behind her, and Cullen entered last. It was a tad cramped, but we managed to each find a place to stand without getting in anyone’s way. The soldier took her place near the cot in the corner, Cullen stood in front of a small table and stool that functioned as his desk, and I kept near the entrance, my hands behind my back. I tried not to let my eyes wander too much so as not to be rude, but I did notice the veritable tower of books at the foot of the cot and the many crumpled sheets of parchment that had been kicked to the back of the tent.

“I saw you practicing with Strider earlier,” Cullen began, another smile pulling at his lips, “so I assume you already know about Sister Nightingale’s concerns.”

_Shit. He saw. Great._

Biting back my embarrassment, I nodded and replied simply, “I do.”

“They are mine as well,” he continued, propping his hand atop the pommel of his sword. “Unfortunately, I believe her solution of easing you into combat by introducing you to ranged weaponry is…” he paused, lips pressing together momentarily as he thought about how to formulate his explanation, “not necessarily a mistake, but not the wisest plan of action. I know she doesn’t think you would be suited to melee, and perhaps it is something that you are indeed averse to. But be that as it may, you _must_ to know how to defend yourself in close quarters. A bow is useless if someone breaks into your cabin and is on top of you before my soldiers can reach you, or if someone surprises you in combat if the Herald decides to take you with him on his missions. A few seconds’ worth of holding off an attacker with another weapon – even your fists – could mean the difference between life and death.”

I felt my brows rise at his suggestion. “Are you… _expecting_ me to be attacked?”

He sighed. “Word will get out sooner or later about what you are. When that happens, you will be a target for capture and even assassination. Even with as much security as we have here in Haven, I cannot guarantee that our enemies won’t find a way to reach you. A guard will be stationed outside your door each night, but that may not be enough. And in the field, the Herald and his companions cannot watch for you and themselves, too. There is a great possibility you could be caught unawares, and without this training, you would be helpless to stop your assailants. Such a weakness can’t be ignored.”

He gestured to the soldier, who nodded to me and offered a warm smile of greeting, her dark brown eyes sparkling in the shadow of her helmet. “Tamsyn, this is Corporal Delia Rothe. I would like you to train with her every afternoon for the foreseeable future. She will help you find a weapon you feel comfortable wielding and then train you to utilize it to the best effect. Because you are not a rank-and-file soldier, I felt it pertinent not to incorporate you with the recruits. Instead, you should focus on individual training that is less centered around group situations and discipline and more on personal safety.”

Turning to the Corporal, he instructed, “Just concentrate on finding a weapon today. That will take long enough. You can begin in full on the morrow. I’ll expect a report on your findings by the end of the day.”

“Yes, ser,” Delia replied with a salute.

Cullen then brushed past me with a final nod of what appeared to be encouragement, and I was conscious of the slight scrape of his vambrace against the sleeve of my jacket as he exited his tent without another word, leaving me alone with my new trainer.

After a few moments, I sighed, “I came here knowing it was the safest place for someone like me…and now, apparently, even that’s not enough.”

Delia chuckled, and her accent was distinctly Fereldan as she replied, “That’s his mother hen side showing. Everyone and everything in Haven is part of his nest, and if he senses a weakness anywhere, he fusses and frets until it’s fixed to his satisfaction.”

I found myself smiling in amusement at her assessment. And how accurate it was.

“He _is_ right of course,” she added. “You _should_ know how to defend yourself properly. But I know the Commander is also covering his ass. If anything were to happen to you, Lady Pentaghast would demand to know why he allowed it and then tan his hide for him.” Noticing my expression, the corner of her mouth turned upward, and she explained, “He told me enough about you for me to understand that you’re damn near as valuable to the higher-ups as the Herald himself. You’re an asset, and an important one. They lose you, and he’d never forgive himself for the failure.

“But now it’s my job to make sure that never happens,” she gestured to the tent opening, “let’s go and see what works for you, then, shall we?”

Unable to do anything else, I nodded my acquiescence and ducked out of the tent, Delia right behind me. As we entered the training ground proper, she pointed to a series of barrels, close to where Cassandra usually sparred, and I meandered that way, letting her take the lead as I slowly approached them. The corporal patted the open-topped barrels and beckoned me to come closer, “Right. Take a peek in here and try a few of these on for size. Hand-to-hand and dagger training is a given, but we need to pick something good for the field.”

I leaned over the barrels and looked inside each of them. Within these barrels had been piled numerous practice weapons of varying sorts. Most of them were wooden, but were crafted to resemble the length and weight of their real and deadly counterparts: shields and bucklers of every size, quarterstaffs, swords of numerous lengths, axes with both one head and two, maces, flails and hammers…a few could even be assembled from multiple pieces to form practice spears, halberds, and glaives. I spent the next half hour or more withdrawing one after the other, testing the weight and the feel of them in my hands.

But after going through almost every replica there, I began to feel Leliana was right all along. No weapon felt as good in my hands as the bow had earlier, despite my failures during the practice session. Each melee weapon I withdrew just felt… _wrong_. They were too long, too short, too heavy, too unwieldy, or some combination thereof. Even shields didn’t seem right to me, as I distinctly lacked the strength, stamina and coordination to handle two separate items in my hands at once.

Just when I thought I was going to scream from sheer frustration, Delia suddenly spoke up with hand uplifted while peering into one of the barrels, “Wait, you missed one.”

She then reached farther down into the barrel and pulled out what looked to be the standard sword I had discarded not five minutes ago, but the blade wasn’t as long – perhaps two feet all told. It was certainly longer than a dagger, but it was distinctly shorter than the other swords I had tried swinging around. Extending it to me, she explained, “Some call it a shortsword. Others insist it’s a long dagger. Either way, it’s light, it’s quick, but it gives you a little more reach than a simple knife. I’ve heard blades of this length are popular with fighters in Tevinter.”

I took it skeptically, but as soon as my hand curled around the grip, something just… _clicked_. It was like it belonged there. It fit. It worked. It was _right_. And it felt so strange.

“Ah, there it is,” Delia remarked with a knowing grin. “I’ve seen that look before. You just found your battle partner.”

I couldn’t help but smile back. “I…guess I have.”

“Right,” she nodded, “I’ll go put in an order for a proper one with Harritt. We don’t stock many of them, as they’re not a popular choice with the men. Since that’s it for the day, I’ll be spending my afternoon planning a training routine for you. Tomorrow, I’ll start teaching you how to use it.”

\------------------------------------------------------

That night, after an evening’s worth of studying the Chant of Light again, I lay in bed thinking about what all had happened to me in such a short time span. In the course of two days, I had gone from a limbo-like state, completely uncertain of my future, to incredibly busy, my schedule now filled with studying and training routines and with an established “career” ahead of me.

_Advisor Tamsyn Ashworth of the Inquisition, trainee of bow and shortsword, scholar of the Chant of Light and avid student of the common tongue…_

Ha! Who was I kidding? I was a walking anomaly who just happened to be somewhat useful and who the Inquisition’s top tier was desperately trying to transform into some semblance of competent.

I rolled onto my side and hissed at the soreness of my shoulder, cursing my poor fitness. I should have remembered to stretch after archery practice. Actually, I should have remembered to do it beforehand, too. And I would have, had I actually been _thinking_. But for some reason, good old bumbling Tamsyn was just stumbling around all day in some dazed haze halfway between awestruck and clueless. And all I had been worried about was what Cullen thought of my ineptitude.

_Think!_

All of the busywork and training aside, I had to mentally prepare myself for when the Herald returned and I was needed in that war room again. I had to get ready for Vivienne and Sera and whatever questions, concerns, and trouble they might raise. And I especially had to get ready for Solas…

…because God only knew what the Dread Wolf was going to throw at me when he got back.


	11. Chapter 11

Before I could fully ready myself for the next stage of the game, as it were, naturally, life just _had_ to throw me another curveball in the form of my monthly cycle. Naturally, I hadn’t thought of it at all until it was almost right on top of me, but I was lucky enough to have advance warning in the form of the telltale lethargy and foggy-headedness the next day. Thankfully, preparation was solved quickly by an early morning visit to the healers, who apparently had already worked out a brilliant system to provide for the women of Haven in the form of a steady supply of old rags and small vials of elfroot tonics. These materials I quickly took back to my cabin and stowed away like treasured gold for when the storm finally _did_ break.

And a day later, it did.

During those two days, despite my lassitude, I managed to start a regular routine with Strider and Delia, the latter of who began to train me in hand-to-hand, dagger, and shortsword techniques, her plan having been approved by Cullen. Thankfully, neither practice lasted more than two hours at once, so I had a bit of time to breathe before and after each. I ate breakfast at approximately seven in the morning, and then I trained with Strider from ten until noon, at which time I broke for lunch. After that, I met with Delia from about one until three in the afternoon. Later, I studied the copies of the Chant of Light until supper, which I took at roughly six in the evening. The rest of the night, then, I had to myself to do as I pleased.

Honestly, my now-established schedule wasn’t as packed as some, but I still had a lot to digest and learn. I ended up both mentally and physically shattered by nighttime those two days, and my feminine problems didn’t help matters at all. I was irritable and perpetually fatigued, and no amount of sleep seemed to help either of those two issues.

And then, the Herald finally returned.

I had been heading to the practice field to meet with Strider, biting back a grimace as the elfroot tonic I had used that morning before breakfast had yet to kick in. The herbal concoction had successfully taken the edge off of my cramps the day before, and had also managed to simultaneously ease the muscle pain from my practices, but it was nothing like the medicine available back on earth; the underlying ache and tension was always there, lurking under the surface and keeping me short of temper.

As I thought about my situation on the way to the training grounds, I realized that the tonics the women were given were probably watered down quite a bit to make supplies last longer, especially considering most of the stock of elfroot went to powerful healing potions and poultices for wounded troops. I briefly wondered if there was anything else I could take that would help me, like an herbal tea or something to relax me, and I had half a mind to ask Josephine or Leliana about it…

But just as I reached the archery grounds, the distant sounds of approaching horses filled the air, breaking me out of my thoughts and turning my attention from Strider, who awaited me with bow already in hand. I glanced to the dirt road that wound its way around the town’s palisade, and there, clopping and snorting through the snowy pass, was the Herald and his companions…Vivienne and Sera accompanying them on additional mounts. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the glint of Cullen’s vambrace in the sun as he waved an officer over to take his place on the practice field, and I knew a war room meeting would be called very soon.

“Herald’s back,” Strider observed as I meandered over, and we both continued to watch as the party continued further towards Haven’s stables. “I suppose you’ll be needed soon, then.”

“Yeah, probably.” Honestly, I wasn’t sure which I preferred right now, the meeting or the training. Both were likely to try my already thin patience.

“Right. Let’s just forget practice, then. Your shoulders could probably use the break, eh?” He playfully punched my upper arm to punctuate his words; it hadn’t been a hard punch at all – in fact, he had likely held back on purpose because he knew I was sore – but it still hurt like hell.

“ _Owowowow!_ ”I inhaled and squeaked at the same time, dancing away from the scout and glaring at him as I rubbed my touchy arm. He merely laughed lightly and shook his head at me, apparently still amused at my physical weakness. Had I not been in such an irritable mood that morning, I might have shared in his amusement; I was in poor shape and I knew it, and attempting to become a combat expert practically overnight was a laughable endeavor in and of itself.

But alas, I wasn’t able to laugh at myself today.

I straightened my uniform, dusted myself off, and made a beeline for the stables, where the companions were now dismounting and shedding extra equipment and weaponry. There was a loud commotion and a chorus of voices as attendants and soldiers happily greeted Maxwell, taking the steeds and welcoming everyone back. As I approached, Varric gestured to catch the Herald’s attention, the latter in the process of removing the plain Fereldan soldier’s helmet he wore. As soon as Maxwell was free of the thing, he shook his head to loosen his matted hair and then glanced my way with those stunning olive eyes of his. He had grown a decent shadow of a beard during his absence, indicating he hadn’t shaved every day.

“And there’s our helper from the Beyond.” The Herald flashed me a brilliant smile. “It is good to see you again.”

Despite how bad I felt, I couldn’t help but smile in return. Maxwell’s grin was infectious, and his warm welcome did wonders to lift my mood. I dipped my head politely as I replied, “And you, Herald. Welcome back.”

“Looks like the Nightingale didn’t murder you after all,” Varric joked, looking me up and down as he took in my new uniform.

“She wasn’t going to murder her anyway, Varric,” Cassandra said curtly before sidling up to me, her hands behind her back. She nodded in acknowledgement to me, and I saw her take a breath before she added, “Tamsyn…I would very much like to speak with you later, if at all possible. In private.”

I nodded, having expected something like this upon her return. “As you wish, Seeker.”

She huffed out a sigh. “First, though,” she motioned to Maxwell to get his attention again, as he was continuing to disarm, handing his sword and shield to the attendants from the forge. “Herald, we should call a war council meeting immediately. I will gather the others and meet you at the Chantry.”

“Of course. I’ll be there in just a moment, Cassandra,” Maxwell answered.

I watched for a moment as the Seeker turned and walked away, striding with purpose past the stables and towards the gates, and Varric followed not far behind, muttering something about a drink. But then I heard Solas’s voice as the elf replaced Cassandra at my side, and I glanced back to him as he spoke. “Ah, Tamsyn. It is good to see you have been treated well in our absence. I would also like to talk with you later this afternoon, if you have the time and the inclination.”

“He’s rather eager,” Maxwell remarked as he shed his scale mail coat, “I think if you keep him waiting much longer, he’s going to positively _burst_.”

 Solas’s expression was one of slight mirth as he shook his head, “There are matters of greater import to deal with for the time being. I would not keep you from them. You know where to find me when you have a moment.” With that, he too followed in Cassandra’s footsteps towards the gates, no doubt headed to his cabin to rest after the long journey.

“So…you’re the _weirdy_ one.”

 _Sera_.

She lingered along with Vivienne, waiting for the Herald to take them both to the town proper. She was looking at me with a rather sour expression on her face, her nose wrinkled. I noticed she kept several paces away from me, her arms crossed and her toes pointed inwards. Beside her, Vivienne watched me with hawk eyes, garbed in her pristine white robes and her elegant horned hennin.

“Sera!” Maxwell scolded, brow furrowed at her lack of tact.

“What, she _is_! And you can’t say she isn’t!” the elf retorted defensively.

“The circumstances of her arrival _are_ rather unnerving, I must agree,” Vivienne remarked. “Although I can detect nothing supernatural about her.”

Sera squinted as she looked up at the mage who towered above her. “Can’t you talk normal?”

Vivienne raised a thin brow as she peered down at the rogue, “I think that would be a more appropriate question directed at _you_ , my dear.”

“ _Pshh_.”

“All right you two,” Maxwell finally approached, at last freed of all his encumbering gear. “Let’s get you both to the ambassador. I’m sure Josephine will be eager to meet you.”

At that, the Herald began leading us towards the town proper. I followed at a good distance behind so as not to make the newcomers more uncomfortable than they already were. I felt myself bristling at being talked about like I wasn’t even there, but I decided it was best to just let it go, instead walking in silence. Maxwell pointed out various landmarks to the two of them along the way, including the Singing Maiden, the sounds from which had Sera’s ears practically perking up with interest.

“It is quite a.... _quaint_ , little place,” Vivienne remarked about halfway through the village, her tone characteristically supercilious. “One can only wonder why the Hands of the Divine chose _this_ of all places for the Inquisition’s headquarters. It is hardly what one would expect of a proper military organization.”

“Can’t all be in lofty towers and sparkly palaces, you know,” Sera scoffed.

“Careful, dear, your ignorance is showing.”

Unlike Sera, I knew exactly what Vivienne meant, and I couldn’t help but agree with her observation. The First Enchanter was subtly pointing out the town’s obvious lack of defensibility against forces larger than bandit raiders, despite the number of troops and the palisade wall.

“Considering the events that led up to the founding, I’m fairly certain it was a matter of necessity, not choice,” Maxwell said. “We just haven’t had the time or the permissions to relocate elsewhere.”

The group fell silent, then, and it wasn’t long before we reached the Chantry. Once inside, after letting my eyes adjust to the harsh change in lighting, I saw Cassandra and the advisors approaching at casual pace.

“There you are,” Leliana greeted us, her eyes flicking my way beneath the shadow of her hood. “And Tamsyn, too. Good. We have much to discuss regarding your trip to Val Royeaux.”

“Yes, we do,” the Herald answered with a nod, “Although, first, let me introduce Madame Vivienne de Fer, First Enchanter of Montsimmard.”

“A pleasure and honor, First Enchanter,” Josephine offered a polite dip of her head, her smile a welcoming one.

“The honor is mine, I am certain,” Vivienne replied, inclining her own head in answer.

“And this is Sera, of the Red Jennies,” Maxwell added.

The elf glanced between the advisors curiously. “So you’re the Inquisition, yeah? Like I told the Herald, show me the baddies and I’ll pin ‘em with arrows for you.”

“We appreciate all the aid we can get,” Josephine replied, her smile widening. Gesturing behind her, she continued, “Come, let us add you two to the official roster. I will meet the rest of you in the war room in just a moment.” At that, both of the newcomers brushed past us and followed the ambassador as she led them to her office in a swirl of blue and gold satin.

After but a moment of silence, Cullen addressed Cassandra and the Herald as he turned back towards the rear of the Chantry. “We read your letters. Your findings in Orlais present us with two options we can pursue to the same effect of closing the Breach, and Tamsyn here has enlightened us regarding both paths. Unfortunately, there is a lot to consider before we come to a solid decision. And it won’t be an easy choice to make.”

The rest of us followed after him, accompanied by a chorus of rattling metal, creaking leather, and swishing fabrics as we all walked together, something I might not have been so acutely aware of  at any other time in the month. I took a breath and exhaled slowly as I fought a wave of fatigue that washed over me. I had half a mind to steal a chair from Josie’s office to bring into the war room with me…

“I am eager to hear what you have learned,” Cassandra replied, watching as Josephine ushered Vivienne and Sera into her office while we passed them by.

“As am I,” Maxwell added, “any clarification you can offer will be welcome. After that mad display at the capital, I’m not sure which way we should go with this.”

Cullen held the door and we all entered, each taking our places around the table. I occupied the same space I had at the very first meeting, between the Herald and where Josephine usually stood. It took a few minutes to assemble the maps and markers, and by the time we had finished with that, Josephine had arrived.

Once we were all gathered, the advisors proceeded to brief the Herald and Cassandra on what had occurred at Haven and the surrounding environs in their absence, including my new role as advisor, troop movements, and scouting events, as well as their thoughts about the situation in Val Royeaux. They also imparted everything I had told them previously in surprising detail, even reinforcing the fact that the looming choice between the mages and Templars was now reduced to a matter of political maneuvering more than anything else. Thankful for not having to do much of the explaining this time around, I merely offered nods of affirmation to their words when either Cassandra or Maxwell glanced my way, remaining silent for much of the meeting. Lethargy swept over me in waves, and I leaned one hand against the war table as I listened to them talk.

As the conversation went on and didn’t require my particular input, I found myself focusing less and less on what everyone was saying and more and more on their body language, which I hardly had time to do before without seeming rude. Just their subtle movements were incredibly enthralling to me, as it reminded me that they were all very much real now. The echoing of their voices in the stone chamber, and their gestures and other mannerisms, brought life to these personas I knew not a month ago as nothing more than crafted characters in a fake world. Now they lived and breathed…and I was here among them.

It was the little things that captivated me most. The way Leliana’s head cocked at Josephine whenever the ambassador spoke, or how she pulled her hands behind her back when Maxwell addressed her. The way Josie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, putting her quill hand in the small of her back or at her hip when not in use. The way Cullen treated his loose-slung sword as a convenient arm rest, one thumb occasionally rubbing the curve of the pommel as if it were a worry stone. As I continued observing them, only half-heartedly listening, I noticed that the Seeker was none-too-pleased at the decision the Herald would ultimately have to make, judging from her crossed arms and slightly backwards lean. Maxwell himself couldn’t hide his own disquiet at the thought, visibly swallowing, his lips pressed tightly together while Josephine elaborated on the impact the choice between the mages and Templars would have on the public view of the Inquisition.

Once everyone had had their say, there was a pregnant pause, and the air seemed heavy as quiet settled over the room. At last, however, Maxwell looked to me, in his gaze a question, as if asking for final words on the situation. Glancing to the others, I took a breath and said, “Well…it’s really all up to you now, Herald, since you’re the one who is essentially acting as representative of the Inquisition. You’ll eventually have to decide who you feel would be most worth investigating, whose support you value most, and how you think the Inquisition should be seen. Not something that has to be decided right now, of course. But it’s coming. Likely sooner than you would prefer.”

Honestly, it was sooner than _I_ would have preferred. It meant that Corypheus’s attack on Haven would probably be in a month’s time or less. _Maybe_ a tad more if the Herald dallied in the Hinterlands or at the Storm Coast, or even at the Fallow Mire, from which the demand had only recently arrived of a ransom for Cullen’s missing soldiers, if I had heard the earlier briefing correctly.

“I’m thinking I should go ahead and make a trip to Redcliffe, just to hear what Grand Enchanter Fiona has to say,” Maxwell said at last, scratching at the back of his head as he thought. “I have some business to conclude in the Hinterlands, anyway. Among other things, I need to finalize the acquisition of our horses now that those watchtowers have been constructed.”

Cullen noticeably inclined his head in approval at that. No doubt the Commander was eager to obtain Dennet’s mounts as soon as possible for the ease of transport of both supplies and men.

“You say nothing will be concluded there anyway, right Tamsyn?” the Herald asked, eyes fixated on a war table piece.

“That is correct,” I confirmed, “but it will give you a much better idea of what’s going on there, so you’ll have an easier time making a decision later on.”

“Good,” Maxwell nodded. “That sounds like a plan. But I’ll let the crew rest a day or two before heading out there. It’s been a hard journey to Val Royeaux and back.”

Leliana shifted in her corner of the room. “In the meantime, I will continue my attempts to track down where the Templars have gone and find out what the Lord Seeker’s true intent might be. We will need all the information we can get if we are to ultimately choose who is worth saving and who will be discarded.”

“Not a choice I’m exactly eager to make,” Maxwell murmured quietly, rubbing at his stubbled chin.

There was a moment or two of silence, and then the Herald made some closing decisions regarding minor side missions of no significant note before the council was finally dismissed. I hung back while the rest filed out, and so did Maxwell for a brief moment; he spoke a few low words to Cassandra, and she nodded in understanding, returning her attention to the war table as he left, leaning over the map of Orlais. Remembering the Seeker’s request, I thought it would be pertinent to go ahead and get this conversation over with, now that the room was empty save for us. After the door slowly creaked shut, I approached her cautiously, hoping she was all right with talking now.

“You said you wanted to speak with me, Seeker?” I asked. “Now seems as good a time as any.”

“I…yes,” she replied, straightening stiffly. By the hesitance in her voice, I knew she was conflicted about whatever it was she was going to say. True to her in-game persona, her tone betrayed her internalized emotional struggle, just like Cullen’s did.

“I wanted to officially welcome you to the Inquisition,” she said at length, awkwardly extending a gloved hand to me. I took it tentatively, and she shook mine with a gentler grip than I expected. After releasing me, she added, “I had my doubts about you, in the beginning, and if I am honest, I still do. But that no longer matters. You have proven that you are willing to help us with your knowledge, however you may have obtained it. And I am of the mind that we cannot afford to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

She sighed, turning away, her gaze fixating on the table again, although I was certain she wasn’t paying attention to anything there. “When you came here, Tamsyn, I was afraid of what you told us. I was afraid of what it meant, for the Inquisition and for the world. And I was also afraid that you wouldn’t guide us to hope and success, but instead to ruination through deception. I feared your intentions for us, and that you were an agent working against us somehow. But I feel I must tell you personally that those fears are gone.”

She turned back, her eyes meeting mine. “On the way to Val Royeaux, we spoke of you. The Herald asked me what I believed in my heart, and it took me a long time to find the answer. I thought about it all the way there, about what you said, and I prayed to the Maker for guidance. And then, when everything played out just as you said it would…” She trailed, paused a moment, and then shook her head. “I knew immediately that we needed you. Just like we need the Herald. The assistance that both of you can provide us is unique, and I cannot help but think that you were sent to us for a reason.” She glanced away again, silent as she thought a bit before continuing, “I remember you told us there is only so much you can reveal to us at a time, so you may continue to provide us hints on what is to come. You said you regretted not being able to tell us more, and I cannot say it isn’t difficult to accept. But I do understand.”

Turning away from me again, she took a few steps towards the door. “I can only hope that you are wise in choosing what to say and what to keep to yourself.”

As she opened the door and departed the war room, then, leaving me to my thoughts, I said quietly, “So can I.”

\------------------------------------------------------

After eating lunch at the Singing Maiden at the usual time, I went to practice with Delia; despite my feeling rather badly, there was no reason not to go. I wasn’t about to use the problem every other pre-menopause woman in Haven had to endure as an excuse. And, truthfully, the training was a welcome distraction from the wider problems of the world and my own smaller issues. Delia, like Strider, was a patient instructor, and I found myself easily immersed in learning the tricks and nuances of combat, even if I was still scared to death to actually have to apply it in some manner in the future.

Once practice was over, however, I knew I couldn’t put off my meeting with Solas any longer. I feared that not going at all would tarnish what seemed to be remarkably decent relations between us, and I couldn’t afford to have him suspicious or hostile towards me. That would only make things ten times worse.

No, I needed Fen’harel to be amicable towards me for as long as was possible…for my sake, and everyone else’s.

Taking a deep breath upon reaching his cabin, I raised my hand to the door and knocked rapidly upon its surface, the sound hollow.

“Yes?” was the muffled reply.

I hesitantly opened the door and peeked inside. “Solas?”

The elf glanced up from a table on the near wall that was littered with notes, books, and alchemical ingredients. His brow was deeply furrowed as he bent over the parchment beneath his hand, but his expression softened upon seeing me standing in the threshold. Smiling slightly, he waved me in. “Ah, you’re here. Good. Do come in and have a seat.”

I entered, quickly closing the door behind me, and I was greeted by a subtle smoky, floral scent inside. Solas put down his quill and turned in his chair, gesturing to a stool on the opposite wall, which I pulled forward a bit and plopped down upon. “You wanted to talk to me?”

He nodded. “Yes, I do. I have been thinking about your _situation_ for some time now. I must say, I have studied the Fade for many a year, and I have never heard of anyone coming through it from another world. It is a puzzle, to be sure, but I believe I have begun to piece it together. I assumed you might wish to hear my thoughts on the matter, so that you may understand the why and how of it.”

I swallowed. I honestly didn’t know if I wanted him to share these thoughts with me or not. For one, I couldn’t trust that anything he told me wasn’t for the sole purpose of furthering some hidden agenda. For another, I was a little sick of thinking about my origins. Any time my mind wandered to the topic, it brought nothing but heartache. And now, when I was already on a rollercoaster of emotions, wasn’t really a good time to bring it up again.

“Well, I was hoping to put this all behind me as soon as possible, actually,” I said finally, clasping my hands atop my lap.

“I understand,” he nodded slowly. “Still, perhaps it will offer you some closure and peace of mind. If I am correct in this, it is rather… _final_. That alone may be of some comfort, oddly enough.”

I sighed my resignation. “All right. I’m listening.”

He inclined his head. “I shall try to make it brief. You said that this world is a story to you, a work of fiction, where you are from. To others, such a statement would make your situation sound all the more unbelievable. For me, however, it provided a key to figuring out just how you got here.”

He shifted in his chair, “A book, specifically one of fiction, is a product of imagination, yes? It is first thought of by its creator, and then it is made into reality by putting those thoughts to parchment. Thus, imagination is the center of creation. The same can be said of magic itself…at least, in _this_ world. It, too, is a product of the imagination. A mage imagines a fireball, and his magic manifests itself as such through that mage’s willpower. Do you follow?”

I nodded.

“The tie between it all is the Fade, and it is in the Fade that the imagination has the most power. It functions as both a wellspring and a bridge. There, reality is reflective of the mind, most notable when one is dreaming. You experienced a very important thing when you arrived here from your home world: you traveled through the Fade _first_.”

“I did.”

“And that, I believe, is the very _crux_ of it,” Solas leaned forward, his eyes intense as he continued his explanation, “Whatever calamity struck your world, it impacted the fabric of reality itself, tearing through it and allowing access to the Fade beyond, outside the realm of dreaming. Tell me…were you thinking of our world – this story of yours – at the moment of or shortly before this event occurred?”

My eyes widened in realization. I _had_. I had just been texting Abigail about _Inquisition_ when all of this started…

“Yes,” I answered quietly, beginning to understand where he was going with this.

He smirked. “Ah. Then that makes even more sense. Imagination is a powerful thing, Tamsyn. It has the power to create worlds and to transport one to others. Figuratively as well as literally, so it seems. Let me be clear – I do not think that this world was _created_ from the dreams of the author who wrote about it as you know it. Rather, I believe it is the opposite: the story you know was written from the dreams of the one who touched this place in his or her mind, reinforcing my theory that the Fade acted as an _already extant_ conduit between worlds at the moment of your home’s apocalypse.”

He propped his elbows on his knees and peaked his fingers underneath his chin as he continued. “It is my belief that the strength of your imagination is what allowed you to touch the Fade at the moment of this disaster, thereby saving your life. It was the Fade itself that both made your author privy to this world, and it ultimately pulled _you_ into it when your reality was destroyed.”

As he finished, I leaned backwards against the wall of Solas’s cabin. This…this was a lot to absorb, and it was more than a bit difficult to wrap my head around it all. But I had to admit, the situation was starting to make a little more sense.

A little.

“So, what about other people?” I asked. “There were a lot more people than me who read about Thedas. Why didn’t they get pulled here, too?”

He shrugged indifferently. “Perhaps they have. Thedas is more than just the Frostbacks and the Hinterlands, as you are well aware. It is possible more of your kind are here and that they have survived just as you have. Or, perhaps not. Such a propelling of the body from one world to the next could very well hinge on the willpower of the individual in question, just as the strength of a mage depends upon the very same. I am less certain about these technicalities.”

My brows rose, and I held my breath as I realized that more people just like me could be in Thedas doing God knew what. If that was the case, then this could get really, really messy really fast. I hated to be so heartless, but I actually hoped it wasn’t true. Because if it was, then my job could get a lot more difficult.

“In any case,” Solas added, “perhaps it is best that your world has been destroyed by whatever happened to bring you here. A callous suggestion, you no doubt think, but hear me out – I do not believe reverse transportation is physically possible. Even if there were some remnant of your world left, I am certain that there is no way for you to return to it. It is better that the hope not exist at all than it remain and haunt you, tempting you into dangerous acts in an attempt to go back home.”

I sighed again, rubbing my temples with my forefingers as my head began to throb. “So…you essentially told me all of that to tell me that yes, what happened _was_ possible and no, I can’t go back. Sounds like something you should be explaining to the others and not to me.”

“I _have_ discussed it with the Herald already, and I am sure he will share it with the rest in due time.”

“Good,” I said, shifting in my seat. “Maybe everyone can accept all this for what it is, now – a terrible accident.”

Solas gave me an enigmatic smile. “To many, your presence here is much more than that. It is something about which they have already made up their minds. But it also presents challenges that are difficult for them to overcome.”

“Why, exactly?” I found myself asking, “Does the Chant not allow for other worlds or something?”

He was silent for several moments before answering, “I’m afraid I cannot speak for Andrastians on the matter. Personally, it challenges everything I know about the Fade and its connection to us. Yet, in a strange way, it also simultaneously affirms it. It is but a guess, but perhaps those who believe in the Maker feel the same about it – it shakes faith to the core, but it also reinforces belief in a power beyond this world. Perhaps, many worlds, for that matter. At any rate, it is at once discomforting and marvelous.”

He smiled again, then, and I felt so conflicted about it. I knew what he was and what he planned on doing, and it colored everything he did, even his attempted kindnesses. But I couldn’t show it.

I stood. “Thank you, Solas. I appreciate it. It helps…really.”

“I am glad,” he answered, slowly turning back towards his work at the table. “If you need to, I will be more than happy to discuss this matter with you again whenever you so desire.”

At that, I gave him a polite nod and left the elf’s cabin, all the while wondering why he wanted to tell me all of this so badly and whether or not he had really been telling the truth…

\------------------------------------------------------

I was on my way back to my cabin after eating supper that evening when I spotted the Herald leaning against the outer wall of his own residence, looking up at the emerging stars overhead. As always, the twilight hour was crisp and clear, and now even colder than usual as winter continued its steady march towards us. I tucked my gloved hands under my armpits as I walked, shivering a little as a particularly icy breeze swept through the town and pierced even through my lined jacket. Haven was perpetually at freezing or below temperatures in the autumn, it seemed, and I suspected it would fall close to zero degrees Fahrenheit at the peak of winter. That wasn’t a good sign for later events…

As I reached the trio of cabins near the gates, Maxwell saw me approaching at last and offered me a small smile, raising a hand in greeting. “Good evening, Tamsyn.”

“Good evening, Herald,” I replied, a puff of misty breath following my words.

He then gestured to his cabin door, “If you aren’t too busy, perhaps you’d care to share a drink with me?”

I slowly stopped in my tracks, wondering what he was thinking. “Well…sure, Herald. Why not?”

He held the door for me and I quickly ducked inside. As he entered behind me, I noticed his cabin wasn’t too different than mine. The hearth was crackling with a merry little fire, so that it was pleasantly warm, and the cheerful glow did much to improve my mood.

He moved past me to the mantle, plucking a tapered bottle from its surface. “The ale at the tavern is watered down, and, to be honest, rather horrid. Though I do understand Cullen doesn’t want his soldiers turning into drunken fools.” He turned the bottle over in his hands and read the label before continuing, “I bought this in Val Royeaux for when the occasion called for something a little stronger than what the Singing Maiden offers. I think that occasion is now.” There were two pewter cups on the wooden table nearby, which he ushered me towards as he easily popped the cork on the wine. I took a seat while he poured us drinks, pulling off my gloves and laying them on the table beside me.

He set the bottle aside and added, “And perhaps it will help with ah…you know.” He gestured to me oddly, and I raised one brow in confusion.

And then my eyes widened as I realized what he meant. He _knew_?

His full lips pulled into a knowing grin as he sat across from me, the chair creaking a bit under his weight. “I have an elder sister. Trust me, I recognize the signs,” he leaned back and took his cup in hand, “She used to take an extra glass of brandy to bed a few days out of every month. When curiosity got the better of me and I finally asked her about this habit of hers, she said it helped her sleep during the worst of her symptoms. Maybe it will do the same for you.”

I couldn’t help but smile in response as I gratefully took a sip. The flavor was a bit like Pinot noir. “Thank you, Herald, I appreciate the gesture.” After he nodded in response and took a drink himself, I added, “Although, I sense you wanted more than to just share some wine to help me sleep better?”

He sighed, crossing his ankle atop his knee as he set the cup back down. He looked off into space as he gathered his thoughts, his brow softly furrowed. I waited patiently, taking another sip of the wine and trying to relax as I watched him. There was something preying on his mind. Or perhaps a great many things.

“I was hoping to talk with you about…well, all of this, really,” he replied at length, his olive gaze returning to mine. “It looks like the others are going to be pulling you in all sorts of directions. Understandable, of course, given both your unique perspective on matters and your circumstances. But I feel I need to ask you about a few things before…before matters become more complicated than they already are. And I lose the chance to speak with you.”

I offered him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “You won’t lose the chance to speak with me, Herald. I know it seems like everything is going to be a continuous whirlwind of activity, but you’ll always have pockets of time to breathe now and then.”

He smiled back a little, pausing and taking another drink before inquiring, “Dare I ask who the protagonist of this story of yours is? Because right now, it feels like everything is centered on me.”

“It does,” I said simply, sipping the wine. “And _you_ are, of course.”

He chuckled to himself, but it wasn’t a mirthful sound. He shook his head, tilting his cup as he looked down into it. “So the tale of the Inquisition revolves around the Herald of Andraste…” he trailed, his gaze wandering to the glowing slash on his palm. “Is there anything to that? Really? Or is it just something that makes the events of the Conclave and this ‘Mark’ easier for the public to swallow?”

I paused, thinking. “A little of both, probably. People jumped to conclusions, sure. But no one will ever really know for certain. Not even you. It’s all faith, Herald. You either believe…or you don’t.”

He huffed out a breath in frustration. “I don’t know what to believe.”

“Neither do I,” I said quietly.

At that, his expression softened a bit. “We’re two of the same kind, aren’t we? Both of us got thrown into this without asking for it. Both of us experienced what everyone thought impossible. You don’t know exactly what happened to get you here. I can’t remember the events surrounding the explosion. And now, here we are, the both of us together steering the course of the Inquisition, and everyone thinks we were somehow guided here by the Maker.”

I took another sip of wine and leaned backwards in my chair. “The only difference is that I’m expendable and you’re not.”

He drained his cup and shook his head again, looking at me curiously. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” I answered flatly. “I already said it before; this story revolves around _you_ , not me. If I wasn’t here, it would happen more or less the way it’s supposed to. Now that I _am_ …I actually run the risk of fucking everything up. One wrong move and everything is thrown off. That’s one reason why I _have_ to be involved now…to make sure everything goes right despite my being here. And even then, I could slip up.”

I drained my own cup, and he refilled both. “I don’t envy you.”

“Nor I you, Herald,” I replied in all seriousness. “Not at all. Things will get much harder before they get easier, that much I _can_ tell you right now. Starting with this choice between mages and Templars.”

He snorted. “Mages and Templars and more mages and more Templars…I’m with Varric, I’m sick of both of them.”

“And now life is forcing you to choose sides.”

His Anchor hand tightened around his cup, the eerie green glow reflecting off of the metal. “I don’t _want_ to have to choose. I don’t want to reduce one side or the other to mere pawns and let the remaining side die because I can’t be in two places at once. One side gets used while the other gets destroyed…who can do that and walk away with a clear conscience?”

I smirked. “I didn’t say it was going to be easy.”

“I know. I get it…I _have_ to do it. And I’m going to have to live with it whether I like it or not. Because that’s how the story goes, right?” His tone was more than slightly bitter, and he knocked back the second cup of wine in one large swallow. I remained silent, sipping my own drink and pondering what I could say.

“There’s a lot more to it, isn’t there?” he asked softly, gaze wandering into the shadows again.

I nodded. “Yeah. A lot more. I just…can’t tell you about it yet. Soon…but not yet. The story just needs some more development.” I paused again, and in an attempt to turn the conversation towards a more positive note, I added, “In the meantime, you’ll at least have some new allies to seek out. Leliana will ask you about one. Probably sometime tomorrow. The other should have a representative coming to talk with you before you leave for the Hinterlands again. If you see a Tevinter mercenary with a giant war hammer and Free Army armor, don’t ignore him. He’ll be hanging around the Chantry trying to get someone’s attention in order to establish a contract with his company’s leader.”

His only answer was a slow nod as he absorbed my words.

“There’s one thing about it,” I finished my second cup and pushed the pewter vessel away, “you won’t have any shortage of people helping you. No matter how lonesome the road and how heavy the burden seems, Herald, you’re never alone.”

He met my gaze again, and a small smile pulled at the corner his mouth. He looked at me for several moments, and then said finally, “I want you to know, Tamsyn, that I appreciate what you’re doing. You didn’t have to help us. You could have walked away from that tent in the Hinterlands and found your own path, away from all of this. But you chose to come pursue the Inquisition. I know you believe it for the selfish reason of protecting yourself, offering the only thing you thought you had of worth in return for your safety. But I think it was more than that. You may feel like you’re merely expendable, but I, for one, am glad you are here.”

I felt quite warm then, from the wine or his words I couldn’t tell at that point. I thanked him, and it was then that I rose from my chair, gathered my gloves, and politely bid him goodnight, heading back to my cabin to find some much-needed rest.

And after all that had happened that day, after all that had been discussed, the one thing I fell asleep thinking about was how blessed the Inquisition was to have such a kind-hearted Herald.


	12. Chapter 12

“And fire.”

_Thwack._

I blinked. My jaw dropped.

Bullseye – the first since my archery practices had begun.

“ _I did it!_ ” I squealed, unable to prevent myself from bouncing on my toes in my excitement. I had been steadily improving, but this particular success had come practically out of nowhere. It was actually rather accidental, but I was still nothing short of elated.

Strider chuckled, grinning widely at me. “So you did! Now you just have to _keep_ doing it.”

“Fat chance of that.” My nose wrinkled as I glanced at him.

He shook his head slowly. “No ounce of optimism in you, is there?”

“Nope.”

Strider then plucked the arrow out of the target. “Let’s not ruin the mood and just leave it at that, shall we? Don’t want to end the session on a sour note. Besides,” he gestured behind me, “looks like you got a messenger waiting for you.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Lea was standing not far from me, some folded papers in her hands. She smiled at me and dipped her head, but remained at a distance. I shrugged off the quiver and handed both it and my bow to Strider, giving him a friendly farewell before turning around and approaching the elf, rather curious as to what she had to deliver.

“Hello again, Lea,” I greeted the elf with a friendly smile. “You have something for me?”

“Yes mis - uh, _Tamsyn_ ,” she said, catching herself before calling me ‘mistress’ again. “Two written notes and a message from Master Tethras.” She handed me two of the pieces of sealed parchment and continued, “He’s arranging a Wicked Grace match at the Singing Maiden tonight and wanted to know if you would like to participate.” She leaned to the side and raised her voice a little to add, “You too, Scout Strider.”

Strider didn’t even glance up from where he was stowing the practice bows. “The last time I played with that lot, I lost my whole week’s wages to four Songs…you can tell the dwarf I’ll come for drinks but not for cards.”

Lea straightened again and smirked at me. “Strider’s a sore loser.” Judging from her words and her tone, it seemed she was either a player or observer of these games, too.

“Sounds like,” I chuckled before answering, “I’ll admit I have no idea how to play, but if I can make it over to the tavern without someone dragging me off for whatever reason, I’d certainly love to be there.”

Lea grinned, seemingly pleased, and nodded her understanding. “I’ll let him know, mi – _Tamsyn_.” She caught herself again and shook her head, wincing at what she perceived was a repeated error. “Old habits, sorry…”

“No worries at all, Lea.” I smiled again. I was just happy she seemed to be more comfortable speaking with me.

She quickly dipped her head once more. “Right…see you later, Tamsyn. I’ll fetch you when the game starts.”

And with that, she spun on her heel and strode for the gates.

I meandered out of the practice area, skirting around where Cullen’s soldiers clashed and yelled and took orders from a barking Rylen, all the while gingerly breaking the seals on the notes and unfolding them, careful not to let the chill wind catch them. The first was in the common tongue, and I resisted the urge to hold off reading it until I returned to my cabin; squinting at the runic letters, I slowly but surely made out the contents, forcing myself to exercise my newfound knowledge:

_Tamsyn,_

_I won’t be able to train you for a few days. There’s been some trouble along the route to Redcliffe that requires more seasoned officers to handle. The Commander says he won’t assign a replacement, so you’re free for a few afternoons. Enjoy the time. You deserve it. You’ve been working hard._

_Harritt passed word along that your sword and dagger are ready to pick up at the forge. Keep them on you at all times. Commander’s orders._

_Corporal Delia_

I refolded the note and sighed. I couldn’t say that wasn’t a bit of a relief, even though it _did_ make me a tad concerned for Delia. I’d been practicing my ass off these last few days, and my body was not happy with me. Maybe I would have the opportunity for a nice long soak in the washtub at some point…

As I switched to the second note, I was prepared to slowly decipher it, too, until I found it had been penned in an elegant Orlesian script.

_Lady Tamsyn:_

_You are cordially invited to tea with Madame Vivienne and Ambassador Josephine in Haven’s Chantry immediately following evening prayers. Hors d'oeuvres will be provided._

_Ambassador Josephine Montilyet_

Raising my eyebrows, I refolded the second piece of parchment and tucked both into the sash around my waist. Well, for someone who was still very much an outsider here, I sure wasn’t lacking for a social life. As a matter of fact, I was getting more attention now than I had back on Earth. Whether or not that was a good or a bad thing I had yet to decide…

I was lost in thought as I walked towards the forge to pick up the weapons Delia had ordered for me. I appreciated the Inner Circle’s attempts to be friendly and include me in their social affairs. I really did. Yet, at the same time, I couldn’t help but feel that they were going to start pushing me for more information…quite possibly information that I honestly couldn’t provide for them. Now that they believed, or were _trying_ to believe, the fact I knew about future events, could they accept disappointment when I wouldn’t be able to give details about _everyone’s_ personal lives?

Varric, as a novelist, understood my situation more than most. He had understood from the very beginning that I would know more about some things than others – about more _people_ than others. Maxwell and even Cassandra seemed to understand, too, or at least were trying to. But what about everyone else?

I was less worried about Varric’s invitation than I was about Josephine’s, particularly because the latter included the presence of Vivienne. Madame de Fer would do anything to gain more leverage in court to keep her illustrious standing; she was a master of the Game, and no pawn on the board was safe when the Queen was in play. I reminded myself that she would not be above using me to her advantage, all the while trying to spin it as if _I_ were to gain from the whole affair.

 _Orlesians_.

I huffed out a misty breath, slightly amused at my own suspicions. Maybe I was worrying too much. Making something of nothing. Maybe she really did just want to break the ice a bit. But that seemed something of a stretch coming from the Iron Lady.

Speaking of iron, the forge was more alive than ever when I arrived, the air filled with the rhythmic clanging of mallets against metals of various sorts and the familiar hiss of hot weapons plunged into water troughs. Metallic smoke stung my nostrils as I approached, and the heat of the fires instantly banished the wintry chill in the air. The Breach flickered a little, and I glanced that way; the air around it was foggy, making the greenish glow look even eerier, and I noticed that the cloud cover was gradually increasing. I shivered. Would there be fresh snow soon?

“‘Ello missus. Need sumpn’?”

At the sudden sound of a familiar voice, I glanced downwards to see Sean with his hands on his hips as he looked up at me, his shirt soiled with soot from his dirty fingers.

“Hello, Sean,” I smiled at the head tailor’s boy. “I got a message that my weapons were finished. Do you know where they are?”

He visibly perked up at hearing me say his name, smiling broadly, and he nodded emphatically in answer. “Yep.”

Off he ran, first to Harritt, to whom he spoke a few words and then to the back of the forge where the master blacksmith pointed. As Sean proceeded to sift through a massive stack of open crates, Harritt slowly wandered towards me, wiping his blackened hands on his apron.

“You must be Tamsyn, yeah?”

I nodded. “I am.”

“Sean’ll have your blades here in a moment. You had the shortsword and dagger set, right?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Good,” he replied. It was then that Sean jogged up with a slender box crafted from rough pine in his small hands. Harritt ruffled the boy’s hair in thanks as he took the box from him and then set it on the nearby rock wall, motioning me closer. As I neared, he withdrew two matching black scabbards, one with a belt and one without, from the straw bed inside the box. Turning towards me, he tucked the shorter one under his arm and held the longer one flat across both palms. “This here’s your shortsword. Not a lot of people around here using these. The scouts favor daggers more than anything else, and the soldiers are more accustomed to longer swords.”

He then took hold of the scabbard and the hilt of the sword and pulled it out of its sheath to show me the blade itself. It was slender, plain silver steel polished so much it shone like a mirror. It was also ever so slightly broader towards the tip than it was near the crossguard, giving it an elegant shape that reminded me of some Roman gladii I had seen in pictures. The crossguard was just a bit wider than that of a typical gladius, though, more like Anglo-Saxon or Norse swords, but without the usual ornamental knotwork. It sported a spherical pommel and a short, black leather-wrapped hilt, just long enough for my hand.

“So there she is…Farris over there made this one,” Harritt pointed to a blonde man hard at work at an anvil in the back. “Mountains around Haven’s got some fine iron, so you can trust the steel is good. You can thrust _and_ slash with this mind you,” he indicated the sharply tapered point after the broad leaf of the blade, “Farris took the design from some old Vint schematics in an arms manual. Should fill your needs quite nicely.” He then slid the blade back into the scabbard with a _schickt!_ and moved to belt it around my waist, reaching around me and securing it atop the sash before adjusting the sheath to the appropriate angle at my left side. “There. How’s that fit?”

I reached to grab the hilt and pulled the sword free, marveling at the light weight, and then sheathed it once more. The motion came easily, not at all uncomfortable to perform, and the blade both departed and returned to its place in the scabbard with remarkable fluidity. I grinned my satisfaction. “It’s excellent!”

Harritt’s eyes sparkled as he smiled under his mustache, “Good. Now,” he removed the smaller dagger from under his arm. In both color and style, it matched the shortsword, but its shape was more like a Scottish dirk, and its blade was less than six inches long. “This one’s for your boots. Or anywhere else you can put it.” To demonstrate his point, he pulled at the strap on my right boot that held the knee pad in place, easily tucking the small scabbard behind it and securing it there with a tiny clip at the scabbard’s mouth. “There.”

He stepped away again, and I glanced back up at him with an appreciative nod. “Thank you. I hope I don’t have to use them, but…it’s good to have them.”

He inclined his head. “Maker willing, if you do, they’ll save a life.”

 _Maybe even yours_ , was the unspoken addendum.

\------------------------------------------------------

When I finally left Harritt’s forge, it was already time for lunch at the Singing Maiden. I didn’t remove my weapons, instead taking the time to get used to their added presence at my side and leg. Not that either one was that much of a burden; they were surprisingly lightweight. Still, they _were_ noticeable, but it wasn’t a bad thing. It was strange, really. I’d never felt the need to possess a weapon before coming to Thedas. Now that I was here, though, especially with Cullen and Leliana’s legitimate concerns, just having these blades on my person made me feel safer, even if I was still inexperienced and rather terrible at using them. Delia’s comment about my working hard, despite its intent as a compliment, had only served to remind me of just how terrible I was…

I had resolved to head back to my cabin for some peace and quiet before the events of the afternoon when, suddenly, I spied Cullen in a rather unusual spot, his fur mantle instantly recognizable even from a distance. He sat at a table outside, his back to the Singing Maiden, positioned near where Varric’s tent was pitched. He was perched on a rickety chair far too small for his large armored frame, and across from him sat Solas on a similar seat. As I drew nearer, curiosity getting the better of me, I noticed they were both engrossed in something on the table before them.

A chess game.

My eyebrows hit my hairline. A chess game. Between Cullen and Solas.

_Whoa._

That was a surprise.

I was drawing a little closer, wondering how the match was going, when Solas looked up, hearing my approach. His deeply furrowed brow visibly relaxed as he recognized me. “Ah, Tamsyn. Is there something you require?”

Cullen, too, abruptly glanced up from the game when my name was spoken, seemingly expecting me to request something from either of them. The Commander was silent as he awaited my answer, but his face bore an inquisitive expression, and he appeared ready to leap out of his chair if needed.

“Oh, I…ah…no,” I managed to stammer out, suddenly feeling guilty somehow for interrupting them. “I was just a little curious as to what you two were up to out here.” I laughed a little anxiously, paused, and then suddenly asked on impulse, “Do you uh, mind if I watch?” Some part of me was wondering why I had asked such a silly thing, but another part of me deemed it necessary to observe this battle of wits for myself.

At that, Solas gave Cullen a questioning look, to which the Commander shrugged indifferently and cast a welcoming smile my way, one that threatened to turn my knees to jelly.

_Damnit…_

Forcing back a blush and quickly glancing around for another chair or _something_ , I realized that the nearby rock wall partitioning the upper level of the village from the middle would provide a perfect view of the game. Quickly moving around to the side of the table closest to the wall, I jumped up and perched on the stone edge, my legs dangling down. I resisted the urge to self-consciously swing them back and forth like a child. Or Cole.

From my new position, I took a good look at the board: thankfully, it appeared to be the normal horizontal chess format, not that weird hexagonal setup Cullen would eventually have at Skyhold. The pieces were rustic, carved black and white stones, the designs much like the little marker statues in Ferelden…vaguely Celtic in form. As I noted the state of the game, I realized they must have either just started, or they were both taking a really long time to make their moves. Neither had lost any pieces yet.

“You know how to play?” Cullen asked me as he returned his attention to the board. He shifted in his chair, and even in the increasingly cloud-covered sky, his polished pauldrons caught the sunlight and nearly blinded me.

“Yeah, actually, I do,” I replied, awkwardly blinking away the fading spot on my vision.

Solas smiled a little as he examined his pieces, “You should try your hand against the Commander, then.”

“Oh, no,” I chuckled nervously, my stomach fluttering at the mere _notion_ of such a thing. “I know better than to challenge someone who can hand me my ass on a silver platter.”

At that, Solas and Cullen both laughed heartily, and the former answered, “Wise words, Tamsyn. Although, you never know when luck might favor you.”

They both fell silent, then, and so did I, watching intently as they continued their game. I found myself especially curious to see how this played out; I wondered if, like Solas’s future verbal match with Iron Bull, this one would be symbolic somehow. I felt obligated to pay attention, feeling certain this might mean something someday, and that I might need to remember it…

The game seemed slow at first, but then moved more and more rapidly towards what I predicted to be the inevitable outcome, based on their strategies. They both soon realized what the match’s result would be, too, their acceptance evident on their faces as they anticipated the conclusion long before it arrived, but they both played it out to its end anyway…

A solid draw. A pair of kings alone.

“A good game, Commander,” Solas said at length, rising from his chair once the match reached its conclusion. “You played a solid defense.”

“And you a clever strategy,” Cullen replied with a respectful nod.

“Now, however, I must return to my studies. I do believe the Herald is planning a rather extensive outing in the next few days for which I must prepare.” Solas gave us both a dip of his head as he turned to go, “A good afternoon, Commander, Tamsyn.”

We bade him farewell, and I watched the elf leave until he disappeared behind a cabin, wondering what Fen’harel had gleaned from this little game and what he was thinking. After a few moments, though, Cullen broke me out of my thoughts with a gesture to the now vacant chair opposite him. “Would _you_ care for a game, Lady Tamsyn?”

Knowing him as I did, I should have expected such an offer, but it still caught me completely off guard. A thousand questions rushed through my mind: was this merely a friendly bout or was it a way to judge me? Was it just courtesy or did he really want to play against me? And then there was the way he _said_ it. I’d been called Missus, Mistress, and Lady all since arriving in Thedas and by many a person, but there was something about the way “Lady Tamsyn” rolled off of Cullen Rutherford’s tongue that made the name I borderline detested sound positively _regal_.

“I uh…well, I…I suppose so,” I finally replied, my cheeks burning. I hoped they weren’t as red as they felt like they were. “I mean, so long as I’m not keeping you from your work or anything.”

“Not at all.” Cullen shook his head at me, shifting in his chair again and resettling his weight with the slight clink of metal and creak of leather. “Paperwork is handled for now, and Rylen has the men for today. I’m merely passing the time until the next crisis requiring my attention rears its ugly head.”

“Oh…well, all right, then.”

Hopping down from the wall, I quickly slid into Solas’s former seat, adding, “It’s been a while since I played, though, so it might be a quick match, I’m afraid.”

“How did you learn to play, if I may ask?”

His question was casual, obviously intended to make small talk while he reset the pieces on his side of the board. But it accidentally pressed upon a deep wound that had yet to heal…one that I had tried desperately to forget about but apparently couldn’t banish from my mind as quickly as I would have liked.

“Well-” I began, but my throat constricted so tightly I lost my voice and the answer was choked out of me. For a few moments, it was as if I had lost the ability to speak as memories flooded forth at his question, my heart positively _aching_ and my eyes hot with tears that very nearly spilled down my cheeks. _No…not this again_. I told myself I wouldn’t do this again. It took all of my strength to bottle my emotions back up again, my voice wavering despite my best efforts as I finally managed to croak out, “My mother, actually. She taught me.”

The lengthy pause coupled with the obvious change in my tone caused him to glance up with a rather concerned expression writ on his face. And then, suddenly, it was replaced with the visible awareness that he had dredged up something quite personal. He self-consciously looked back down at the board and shook his head as if berating himself for causing unintentional harm. “I’m sorry, Tamsyn. I didn’t mean-”

“No, no,” I stopped him hastily, forcefully swallowing back the urge to cry when I realized he would blame himself if I did. I wouldn’t let him do that. “There’s no way you could have known, Cul - Commander. It’s…it’s ok.” I sniffed a bit and took a breath to help calm myself. Where had all that come from so _suddenly_? “Honestly, I didn’t expect all these feelings to come rushing out at such a simple question…”

“I understand what you mean,” he remarked quietly, although he didn’t look at me when he said it. I knew he was remembering what happened to him when PTSD struck unexpectedly with overpowering memories of Kinloch. It made me feel _weak_ in comparison.

I cleared my throat and started resetting my own pieces. “Anyways, yeah…she’s the one who taught me how to play. Way back when I was little. We played together a lot back then.” I smiled a bit at the perfect row of black pawns in front of me. There was something almost comforting about it. “But then I started beating her every time we pulled out the board, and we eventually stopped playing at all. Didn’t see the point when I’d just win again.” I shrugged. “It’s been years.”

I sighed. The board was all set now. Since he was playing white, the first turn was Cullen’s, and I noted that he moved a knight right out of the starting gate. Whether or not that was to be considered an offensive or defensive move, I wasn’t sure. He leaned back in his chair as he awaited my turn, honey eyes flicking from the board back to me.

“I would offer to elaborate on my own learning experiences from my youth, but it seems likely you already know all that…judging from what my second-in-command tells me,” he said, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. I wondered if this was an attempt to lift my mood, or at least distract me from my earlier thoughts. In either case, it was working.

I mirrored his move with my own knight, smiling a little bashfully as I recalled that day with Rylen in the tavern. “Did I scare the good Knight-Captain too badly?”

Cullen chuckled, “The man spent an entire half hour debating with himself out loud in my tent before he completely gave up trying to understand how you knew all that and what he should think of it.” He paused, moving another piece, and then added, “Rylen isn’t hostile towards you at all, if you’re worried about that. He’s just finding your existence a bit difficult to comprehend at the moment.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s got to be creepy knowing someone is aware of intimate details about your life without ever having met you before,” I nodded in understanding, progressing a pawn. “Suffice it to say, I got tired of being called crazy and decided to throw some proof I was telling the truth out there. I can’t say it wasn’t my intention to rattle him a little bit with said proof.”

He slid a bishop forth about a third of the way across the board, and I felt forced to re-evaluate my choices. As I quickly took note of my options, suddenly worried about the state of the game, Cullen leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and his fingers under his chin. “I might regret this question, but I must ask – how much _do_ you know about us? As individuals, I mean, not solely regarding the Inquisition.”

I sighed, progressing another pawn as I didn’t see any other viable path. “Honestly, it depends. Everything I told Rylen is everything I know about him. As far as _your_ family life goes, Commander, I know only a little more.”

“Such as?” One eyebrow rose. I should have known he wouldn’t let me just leave it at that. Apparently, curiosity was eating at him.

“Well, your chess skills, for example. I know you have an older sister, Mia, and that she taught you to play. I know you practiced with your little brother, Branson, until you could beat her. I also know you also have a little sister named Rosalie. Mia, though, has always been your biggest supporter out of your siblings, despite beating you so much at chess and bragging about it. She’s the one who helped get you into the Templars, after all.”

He looked down at the board, and I fell silent. I could tell he was lost in thought, as his fingers lingered for several moments on his queen before he slid the piece forward.

“What else?” he asked at length, voice much quieter.

I swallowed nervously, hopping my knight over a pawn, and I wondered why he was pressing me so much. My best guess was that he’d feel more comfortable when he knew _exactly_ how much I knew about him. “Well…about your family, not much more. Only that they were forced out of Honnleath when the Blight hit and…yeah.” I cut myself off before I mentioned the loss of his parents.

“I see,” he replied, and I found his subsequent expression difficult to read.

“ _You_ , on the other hand,” I gave him a little smile, took a stabilizing breath, and went on. “I know about the little boy who dreamed of being a Templar and whose dreams finally came true. I know even more about the living nightmare you endured at Kinloch Hold, and the days spent in recovery at Greenfell, and the hardness fostered within you at Kirkwall, at the hands of Meredith.” I watched his face as I added slowly, “And I also know you agreed to come here so you could leave all of that trauma and darkness behind you. So I will say no more of it again. Not unless you really want me to.”

He looked up again and met my eyes with his own, and it felt as though they were boring straight into my soul. I still couldn’t tell exactly what kind of expression he wore, but it was apparent that he was experiencing mixed emotions. His gaze felt strange – warming in that I was sure I’d blush as red as a pomegranate at any moment under its weight. But also sharp, like a sword…or a beam of light.

“That’s…” he finally began, but trailed off and cleared his throat. “I’m beginning to understand just how exactly Rylen felt that day.”

I gave him a sheepish grin, “You _did_ ask, Commander.”

“So I did.” His dry response bore a note of regret.

We were both silent for a few moments, he seemingly lost in thought, before he mused aloud, “So, to put this in perspective…since you know all this as a story from some book, I can only assume the amount of information to which you have been exposed is proportionate to the significance of the character in question. And, at least compared to Rylen, you seem to know a great deal about me.”

“Comparatively, yes,” I agreed with a grin. “Meaning you are quite important, Commander Cullen.”

He chuckled again and shook his head, finger resting atop a rook. “I’m not quite sure what to think about that. Or if I agree with such an assessment.”

Suddenly, as he pondered his move, I felt rather wicked. This was an opportunity I just couldn’t pass up…

“Important enough to have your own healthy fan following, even.”

His brows rose, and his gloved hand froze on the rook midway through moving it. “‘ _Fan following_?’” he repeated, as if unsure of my meaning, incredulous, or both. I was fairly certain it was the latter, however. Cullen was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.

My grin widened, “Especially among the _lady_ readers. If you were back where I come from instead of here, I’m sure your army would consist mostly of adoring women.”

At that, he seemed to suffer a spontaneous coughing fit, turning away as the entirety of his face reddened to match his coat. “I, ah…” he cleared his throat rather loudly as he tried to recover his composure, “I see. Well…that is… _quite_ interesting…”

 _Priceless_.

I couldn’t help but laugh to myself as he forcibly refocused his attention on the board. Refraining from offering my own opinion about his character, I instead decided to leave him in the dark about how I personally felt about him, at least for now. No need for him to be aware I was actually part of that adoring army of his. At least, not yet.

 _And how_ do _you feel?_

The question hovered in the back of my mind as we continued our match in silence. The answer was difficult to pin down. Oh, there was no denying I found him attractive; reality somehow made him more handsome than even in the game, and every direct look or soft word threatened to reduce me to a puddle of fangirl where I stood. Everything about his mannerisms and speech was quintessential Cullen, and there was no doubt that his character was just the same as the one I had grown to adore.

But now…now there was even _more_ to it. Commander Cullen as an NPC was different than Commander Cullen as a real, living, breathing person. The former was predictable – merely dialogue lines and scripted behavior. The latter was not. The latter had every complication that a real person had. The latter had experiences and sentiments and choices and desires that the game couldn’t even begin to cover. He had a _life_ …a life about which I already revealed I knew next to nothing, despite what all I _had_ told him I knew. Of his thirty years, I had really only been exposed to snippets.

It was then I was struck with the fact that I didn’t really _know_ Cullen at all. Not this Cullen.

“Shit!”

Right when I moved my king, I realized I had fallen into his trap – a rather obvious one to anyone paying attention, but, of course, I hadn’t been. He had handily pinned me with one of his knights, a bishop, and his queen, and there was no way out.

 _Checkmate_.

I shook my head and fell back in my chair. “You got me, Commander. Can’t say as I wasn’t expecting it. Though, it would have helped if I hadn’t let my mind wander off…”

He offered me a small smile of reassurance. “Still, you played well for having not done so in years.”

The compliment coupled with _that smile_ nearly struck me dumb…all I could manage to say in return was a tiny “Thanks.” God, I wish this man didn’t turn me into such a blushing idiot.

As we reset the pieces again for other players, he added softly, “I must admit, I haven’t been my best today, either. It has been… _mmh_ …difficult to concentrate…”

His quiet grunt of pain and his brief pause to rub at his temple made me look up. And then I remembered.

 _Lyrium withdrawals_.

Was that why he had been playing? A distraction?

Either the withdrawals were relatively mild at this point, or he was good at hiding them, or both, resulting in my completely forgetting about them until now. I felt more than a little stupid for not thinking about it yet. As he resumed his task, I looked away, and for a brief moment, I didn’t know what to say or what to do. Did I dare reveal I knew about his quitting lyrium, on top of everything else I had hinted about? Or would he see that as too private? Would he be reassured or angry by my knowing? Was it too soon? I wanted to give him some hope, and yet, at the same time, I was afraid of how he might react…

Hoping I wouldn’t regret not keeping my mouth shut later, I swallowed heavily as I replaced the final piece on my side of the board and then said quietly, “It _will_ get better.”

His brow furrowed deeply as he abruptly glanced up, and his gaze was sharp again as he squinted at me. “What?”

“It _will_ get better,” I repeated, looking him straight in the eyes as I said it. “I promise. It might not seem like it sometimes, but it will.”

His gaze remained locked with mine, and a whirlwind of thoughts could be seen flickering in his golden eyes as his expression subtly shifted in reaction to my words. His brows knitted once more ever so briefly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he narrowed them so slightly it was barely noticeable. Then his lips pressed together almost imperceptibly, but the downward turn of the corners of his mouth gave the action away. A muscle twitched in his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. All of these signs told me he _understood_. I didn’t have to explain any further; he knew _I_ knew.

And then, suddenly, his countenance relaxed, and he looked tired – so very _tired_ – as his amber stare finally left mine, drifting to the ground for a moment. He let out a long sigh through his nose as he placed the last white pieces back where they belonged and stood with a rattle of metal. He lingered there but a moment, looking down at me while the glow of the breach hovered above his head like a flickering halo.

“Thank you, Tamsyn.”

The words were quiet as he turned away, slowly walking towards the stairs. I stood and watched as he descended them and continued for the gates beyond, all the while tiny flurries of snow began to fall and swirl in his wake.

I resolved then that, no matter what our relations turned out to be – good, bad, or indifferent – he would be spared from the ravages of lyrium. He would be free from those chains.

_I’ll make sure of it._


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots going on in this chapter, and lots of emotions. I thought I'd better give you a heads-up on this one: there's some fairly descriptive passages of very hard grieving towards the end of the chapter. It's definitely not a happy bit. Just so you know.

Trying not to worry too much about how Cullen might feel about my awareness of his lyrium withdrawals, I left the table to return to my cabin like I had intended to do before I had been distracted by the chess match. On the way there, I made up my mind to change into something a little more casual in preparation for Josie’s tea party. The chemise and surcoat set seemed the most appropriate garb to wear for the occasion, even if it was probably too _Fereldan_ for Vivienne’s preferences.

Oh well. Madame de Fer would just have to deal with it.

The dress itself was fairly comfortable, though the simple slippers were not quite suitable for walking outdoors in Haven’s current climate, so I exchanged them for the boots that went with my other casual wear. Remembering Delia’s note, I clipped the dagger to the shaft of one boot and belted the shortsword over the surcoat. It actually didn’t look that bad.

Deciding to forgo an actual supper so I could politely partake in whatever Josie had prepared for Vivienne and me, I stayed in the cabin reading some more of the Chant until the Chantry bell began to ring, calling for evening services. Prayer services in Haven were held both morning and evening to accommodate the sheer number of people in the town; those who couldn’t make it to one due to their schedules usually went to the other. The morning ceremonies took place before I woke up each morning. Evening prayers, on the other hand, were held roughly the same time I usually took supper. It was not long after these evening bells that I stood, pushed in my chair, and grabbed my cloak, pinning it at my shoulder. I ran my fingers through my hair to fluff it a bit – it was down for the first time since I arrived in Thedas – and then, satisfied I was ready, I left the cabin, slowly making my way towards the Chantry.

It didn’t take me long to regret the decision to leave so early. The air was frigid, and the flurries that had begun to fall earlier in the day had finally thickened into actual snowflakes, lazily falling to the ground and gradually covering areas that saw little or no foot traffic. A puff of wind here and there would occasionally transform the soft snowfall into dancing swirls of fine white dust before returning the flakes to their slow vertical descent. I immediately threw the hood of my cloak over my head to keep my hair from frizzing upon contact with moisture.

No longer than it took me to walk from my house at the gates to the upper tier of the village, it had become quite uncomfortable to be outside, and the snow just made things worse, seeping into my clothing as it gathered and half-melted. The bullheaded part of me, however, refused to let me turn around and go back. The Chantry doors were already closed when I got there, and I didn’t want to disturb the opening of the services, so I ducked underneath Leliana’s tent for temporary shelter until the ceremonies ended, hoping the Nightingale wouldn’t mind my being there; she wasn’t in the vicinity at present, at least not that I could see, but I had no doubt she would return soon. She never abandoned her corners for long.

I sat on a small stool beside a stack of crates and waited, pushing the hood of my cloak back down from my head and smoothing any stray hairs caught by the cloth. Sure enough, not two seconds later, Leliana appeared, heading from the direction of Solas’s cabin, her expression one of first curiosity as she saw a visitor under her tent, and then one of surprise.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, ducking into the tent with a sheaf of papers in her gloved hands, “I barely recognized you from a distance, Tamsyn. I thought perhaps you were a Fereldan dignitary of some sort until I saw your features.”

I blinked a she began reading over one of the pieces of parchment. I didn’t know what to make of what she said. Was that a compliment or not?

Leliana paused her reading, glancing back to me momentarily and remarking casually, “You should wear your hair down more often.”

“Should I?”

“Of course. It would be the envy of many. There are Orlesian noblewomen who would kill for natural hair like yours right now.”

I smirked. “And how long would that last?”

She chuckled, returning her gaze to her work. “Perhaps a season. Two if you are lucky.”

“It’s a little strange being in a dress,” I added after a few moments, brushing a few stray melting snowflakes from the crimson surcoat. “I thought it was better than my uniform for the Ambassador’s meeting later, though.”

“That’s right…Josephine is hosting a little get-together, isn’t she? With Enchanter Vivienne? And she didn’t even invite me,” Leliana replied with feigned offense in her tone, shaking her head as her blue eyes rapidly flicked across the surface of another report.

I grinned. “I’m sure you could always sneak in and steal one of her _hors d'oeuvres_ when she isn’t looking.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

There were a few moments of silence before I added, “I hope you don’t mind me staying here until services are over.”

“Oh, not at all.” She paused for a moment, and then continued once she finished the second report, “They should be over, soon. Prayer services in villages like Haven are always much shorter than those in grander places, like Val Royeaux. There, they take weeks to go through the whole Chant of Light.”

“That sounds remarkable,” I said.

“It is.”

It was then that a muffled sound came from beyond the Chantry doors; the people within were singing. It started off soft, barely more than a hum, the sound too muffled to make out individual words. But then it grew, slowly and steadily, and the emotion behind it built, layers upon layers of lovely harmonies one on top of the next. As I listened, I found myself staring at the doors, almost as if I could see right through them to the congregation within. Louder and louder they sang with each subsequent verse, until I could _feel_ their voices in the ground beneath my feet, vibrating my bones. They were no trained choir, but their voices were still captivating. They poured their hearts into their Chant, and it was _powerful_.

The congregation’s singing mesmerized me as the snow continued to fall quietly all around. I closed my eyes and let the music consume my senses, allowing myself to pick out the deep and smooth basses and baritones, the angelic tenors and sopranos lilting high above them. Even if I couldn’t understand what they were saying for the layers of thick stone between us, it was still one of the most wonderful things I had ever heard in my life. A wave of serenity washed over me, and every muscle in my body suddenly went limp, having been almost perpetually tense ever since my arrival in this world. A kind of calm I had never felt before wrapped itself around my soul like a warm blanket. I felt contentment. I felt acceptance. And maybe even hope. I felt… _safe_.

I began to think that if this really was sung all over the world at the same time like the Andrastians wanted it to be, then the Maker really _would_ come back. Whatever he was.

Suddenly, and far too soon, the song came to an end, trailing into nothingness, and the world felt a little emptier at the absence of it. I opened my eyes, feeling as though I were awakening from a deep slumber, and it was then I noticed that Leliana was watching me with a half-smile on her face.

“What?” I asked, my cheeks heating with my self-consciousness.

“Oh…nothing.”

\------------------------------------------------------

In a matter of minutes, the Chantry had emptied of its entire congregation, the people within swiftly returning to their duties, just as they did every evening. To my surprise, I saw a handful of both templars _and_ mages amongst them, who had joined the Inquisition in the immediate aftermath of the Conclave disaster. _Interesting_ , I thought. They could pray together. That was a good sign. I was quite thankful that I had yet to see any burgeoning riots between them since I arrived in Haven. Considering how volatile the two sides usually were, I began to wonder if something was wrong. Perhaps these weren’t as radical as some in their respective ranks.

Or, perhaps someone like Cassandra had given them a good talk.

Either way, it was nice to see a distinct lack of conflict between these two eternally opposed forces. It was a sign that the baby Inquisition was actually working.

As I entered the Chantry and made my way towards Josie’s office, I glimpsed her at the end of the nave, near the war room door, her golden satin blouse shimmering in the torchlight. It wasn’t long before the Ambassador noticed my approach and beckoned to me with a warm smile. “Ah, there you are, Tamsyn. I was just about to call a runner to fetch you.”

We both entered her office, then, and I could smell the freshly-brewed tea already. Vivienne was perched on a bench on the wall near the door, her legs crossed elegantly and her clasped hands in her lap. She looked up at me when we entered and offered a strangely warm smile of greeting, her dark eyes sparkling in the low light of Josie’s quarters. “Good afternoon, Tamsyn. It is good of you to come. I do hope we can use this opportunity to get to know one another a little better. I have heard so much about you already.”

“It would be my honor, Madame Vivienne,” I answered politely, taking a seat on another bench on the opposite wall from the Enchanter. “If I remember right, we did not get the opportunity to talk when you first arrived.”

“Alas, we did not,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning down into a slight frown, “and I am afraid my mood was less than hospitable that day. I do hope to rectify my rather dispassionate response to your presence by giving you my undivided attention now.”

Right. I knew exactly what she meant: I was “unnerving,” in response to Sera’s calling me “weird” straight to my face, and that was coupled with her practically ignoring me for the rest of the time she was near me. I remembered all that quite well. How nice of her to try and blame her patronizing attitude on her _mood_. She had to realize I knew better than that.

I merely smiled at her in response, all the while thinking, _Bullshit_.

Josephine, who had busied herself pouring the tea at a small table near her desk, then asked me, “How are you settling in to Haven, by the way? Is everything to your satisfaction?”

“Very much so,” I replied. Truly, I felt I had nothing to complain about.

“That is good,” the ambassador approached with two small teacups on saucers, one of which she extended to me, and the other she handed to Vivienne. We both carefully took them (Vivienne with a small _clack_ of her perfectly-manicured nails), at which point Josie turned back around to fetch the pewter plate of _Hors d'oeuvres_ beside her teapot and added, “I’m afraid Leliana has had no luck finding more translated works for you to practice reading. I trust your studies are going well, though?”

I graciously accepted one of the little snacks she offered us – tiny sandwiches cut into bite-sized squares – and nodded. “Yes. In fact, I was able to read a note Corporal Delia sent to me earlier today.”

“Excellent!” Josephine retrieved her own teacup before half sitting on the edge of her desk.

“What’s this about translations?” Vivienne asked, sipping at her tea while I politely ate the mini sandwich I held in one hand.

“In short, Tamsyn here is having difficulties with the language,” Josephine clarified. “As it so happens, her native tongue matches Orlesian in script, which allows her to read some of our texts. Unfortunately, she has no knowledge of anything close to the common tongue in appearance, and so she has been forced to learn it by reading direct translations of Orlesian and common tongue literature side-by-side in order to be able to communicate with and understand the average Thedosian on paper.”

“I see,” Vivienne replied, cocking her head at me. “Perhaps I can be of help, then. Bastien has quite the expansive library. I could have word sent to find volumes in both common and Orlesian and have them brought here for you to read.”

I had just taken a sip of my own tea; it was black (sugar and cream were no doubt scarce in Haven), and it had a robust flavor, almost like coffee. I swallowed it down quickly at Vivienne’s suggestion, answering, “Oh, you don’t have to do that!”

Reminding myself that Corypheus’s attack was going to happen relatively soon, I knew that the likelihood of those books surviving both the travel to Haven and the subsequent onslaught was slim and none. But I couldn’t tell them that.

“Really, it’s dangerous to get them here, and I wouldn’t want to risk them being destroyed or damaged somehow. Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, First Enchanter,” I added hastily, “but as a lover of books myself, I can’t justify their possible ruin for the sole sake of getting my feet under me faster.”

Vivienne seemed to absorb my words for a moment before she finally smiled slightly. “Eloquently put, my dear.”

“I _still_ think it would be advantageous to train you in the ways of a diplomat,” Josephine remarked. “You wouldn’t have to participate in the Game if that is something that intimidates you…I could find _countless_ projects for you outside of Orlais.”

I visibly shuddered. “Honestly, between the concerns Cullen and Leliana have shared with me, even if I wasn’t apprehensive about communicating with the people already, I’m not sure I should jump into exposing myself to the rest of Thedas quite so quickly, Ambassador. The Inquisition has been kind to me…and incredibly understanding. But the rest of the world?”

Vivienne set her teacup down on her saucer with a definitive _clink_. “Tamsyn, _we_ know where you came from, of course. But the rest of the world doesn’t have to. I believe there is still time to _adjust_ how word spreads regarding your contributions to the Inquisition.”

My brow furrowed, but before I could ask what exactly she meant, Josephine suddenly stood, setting her teacup aside rather excitedly. “That’s right! There have already been whispers around the camp about your telling future events, of course, but barely anyone aside from our Inner Circle is aware of _how_ exactly you know the things you do.”

“We could use that fact to our advantage,” Vivienne added, nodding knowingly. “ _Let_ them talk about your abilities, provided we keep your origins a tightly-kept secret. It adds a layer of mystery to you, my dear…as well as fear. A fear we can easily manipulate.”

 _You would know all about that, wouldn’t you_ , I thought as I sipped my tea.

“It is, perhaps, a bit unsavory to you,” said Josephine, as she apparently noticed my expression. “But if we are to locate the Divine’s murderers after the Breach is closed – as you say it most certainly will be – then we will need leverage in order to find them, yes? Whoever it is that managed to slip past our defenses at the Temple of Sacred Ashes must be well-connected. And well-hidden. If mere rumors about what you can do for us can help in any way…”

I raised an eyebrow, feeling more than a tad concerned. “And doesn’t that work against what Cullen and Leliana want? I mean, if we _want_ people to know what I can do, then doesn’t that raise the risk of someone attacking us? Or sending assassins after me?”

“I wouldn’t say it _raises_ the risk, no,” Josephine shook her head. “Even if people remained unaware of your knowledge of future events, you are still an Inquisition leader, and therefore, a target. Just like Cullen, Leliana, the Herald, and myself.” At that, she took a sandwich for herself and chewed it thoughtfully, as if reflecting on what she had just said.

“And anyone else of particular note who chooses to join our side,” Vivienne observed, no doubt noting the danger to her own person for joining the Inquisition. Turning to me, the Enchanter added, “Unfortunately, if we are to foster the image that you _aren’t_ a person from the Beyond, then you will need to start acting more like you belong here.”

At that, _both_ of my eyebrows rose. “Pardon?”

Josephine sighed, “According to Leliana, you’re still acting rather…submissive around the camp. You are a fellow advisor of the Inquisition, but that doesn’t seem to be the case to anyone who looks at you. I’m not saying that you should act imperiously, but your position of authority should be visibly evident to others.”

“In short, it is rather obvious that you are a complete stranger to us,” Vivienne clarified.

I sat back against the wall, glancing at the dark corner of the room and polishing off my tea.

 _Well…shit_.

The Enchanter then shifted in her seat and leaned forward, adding, “Allow me to say this, Tamsyn: you have incredible potential. You may not believe it yet, but you are a powerful woman with the capacity to influence the entire world. Your reach can and will go much farther than this camp and even this organization. Just like the Commander, Sister Nightingale, and the Lady Ambassador spread their influence across nations with troops, scouts, and envoys, so will you, whether you do it purposefully or not. You _must_ start thinking about that…what it means for you and for the rest of Thedas, and how you can use it to ensure your security far beyond the lifetime of this Inquisition.”

A heavy silence followed, and I bit my lower lip as I absorbed her words.

_But just because I can, doesn’t mean I should._

\------------------------------------------------------

The moment Lea knocked on Josie’s door to retrieve me for the Wicked Grace match was not a moment too soon. Josephine apologized for keeping me so long, Vivienne told me it had been a pleasure, and I retreated from the office with a half-bow before nearly running out of the Chantry. I was walking so quickly that Lea almost had to run herself to keep up with me.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t pleasant?” Lea asked, once we were past the Chantry doors. I noticed the snowfall had slowed considerably. Maybe it would stop soon.

Letting out a long and loud sigh, I finally slowed my pace. “It was uncomfortable, to say the least.”

“Oh,” Lea said quietly before adding, “well, maybe this will help get your mind off things for a while. At least, that’s Master Tethras’s hope.”

“Always looking out for others,” I remarked with a half-smile.

“So it seems,” Lea agreed. “He’s a rather nice dwarf, really. If you didn’t know his name, you would never think he was famous.”

I laughed to myself at her words, and we walked in silence after that until we reached the Singing Maiden, the only sound that of our boots rustling in the fresh snow and crunching over pebbles and dirt. Then, while holding the tavern door for me, Lea suddenly asked, “So, you said you didn’t know how to play Wicked Grace, right?”

I quickly ducked inside, and she followed after me. “Right. No idea.” I was immediately struck by the smell of fresh stew and ale, and I knew those tiny sandwiches of Josie’s weren’t going to last me long.

“That’s all right,” the elf smiled broadly at me, “I’ll teach you. You can watch me play.”

I chuckled, “All right, I’ll do that. Thank you.” Glancing around at the thick crowd within the tavern, I added, “Are you good at it?” I noted that Strider was already there, standing in the corner near the entrance with a full tankard in hand, which he raised slightly at the both of us in greeting when we looked his way.

At my words, Lea thought a moment and then nodded. “I like to think so. Better than Strider, for sure. Right Strider?”

The scout glared. Lea and I both laughed.

The Singing Maiden was packed. There were many a soldier and scout there, as well as messengers and laborers, all talking and drinking together after their work had been finished for the day, taking the time to wind down before crashing and starting all over again in the morning. Sera, oddly enough, was nowhere to be found, at least as far as I could tell, and I wondered where the non-elfy elf had run off to. Perhaps she was already at work making mischief around the camp. Or maybe she was firing arrows into the Breach…

“Hey, look who it is!”

I heard Varric’s cheerful voice over the din from across the tavern, and he smiled broadly at me as he made his way over to us. “Good of you to make it, there, Fortune Teller. We’ll get started in just a few minutes. In the meantime, grab a drink and a seat if you like.”

 _Fortune Teller_. Not the worst nickname in the world.

He pushed past me, then, ostensibly to speak to someone else, and I was making my way towards the counter to do just as he suggested when I noticed Knight-Captain Rylen standing farther down the bar. After I placed my order for ale, the templar immediately caught my gaze, and he lifted his tankard in greeting before meandering towards me, his stormy eyes flicking towards the ground before returning to my face. It was then I noticed just how tall he was; even when I had plowed right into him, back when I had first arrived, I hadn’t really had the chance to gauge his stature. He wasn’t as broad as Cullen, but he could likely look the Commander straight in the eye. Me, I was almost craning my neck upwards at him when he stopped right next to me, close enough that his sleeve brushed mine.

“So, ah, Tamsyn…fancy seeing you here at this hour.”

“I could say the same to you, Ser Righteous Templar.”

He snorted. “Right. You have a moment to talk before the game?”

“More than,” I replied, watching as several of the patrons began rearranging tables and chairs.

“Good,” he drained his tankard and set it on the bar for a refill. “I wanted to say sorry for calling you crazy that day at breakfast. That wasn’t quite professional of me.”

I wrinkled my nose at him and pressed my lips together. “Cullen tell you to say that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, like I can’t make a decision to do the right thing on my own, right lass?” He shook his head, his helm glinting in the firelight. “Look, I realized I said something stupid and want to rectify it. On my own. Not because of morale, or unity, or public image, or any of that. This isn’t an official apology, it’s a personal one. I was a bit of an ass. And I’m sorry.”

I sighed. “Water under the bridge, Captain.”

He blinked, seemingly surprised at my short and quick response. “Oh, well…all right then. That’s good. Because sitting across the card table from an antagonist would’ve made things a little awkward.”

“You’re playing?”

“Damn right I am. I need something to get my mind off that recruit who somehow keeps hitting himself in the face with his own shield.”

I didn’t have time to ask him about that bit, because Varric was ushering all the players to the tables that were now pushed together to accommodate everyone. I took my seat next to Lea, who seemed eager to get started. “You’ll learn quick, it’s not that hard. It’s mostly luck,” she said.

That part didn’t reassure me much. I wasn’t exactly the luckiest person. Or was I?

The tables had at least a dozen people sitting around them, now. Once everyone was settled, Varric dealt out the cards, ribbing Rylen a little for quite possibly neglecting his duties, to which the Knight-Captain snorted. I watched as the draw deck and discard pile was created, as well as a mound of bet money. It was a standard card game setup; everyone got five cards and drew and discarded a card each turn to try and create a decent hand. Lea explained that they would go until someone pulled the Angel of Death card and all players had to immediately show their hands. The more matches of suits, the better, and some suits were “worth” more than others.

As they played, Varric insisted on sharing stories. He went first, of course, describing memorable events from the Herald’s recent trip to Val Royeaux.

“I shit you not,” he said at one point as he tossed a card into the discard pile, “the Seeker nearly punched a juggler in the face when he wouldn’t get out of her way fast enough to suit her.”

Strider chuckled, “That reminds me. Not long after the Blight ended, there was a huge festival in my hometown – acrobats, sword-swallowers…you name it, it was there.  Well, the local Mother didn’t approve of it. Not at all. Especially not with those scantily-clad dancers they had.” He took a swig of his ale and shook his head at the memory. “She goes up on the stage when she thinks one of the performances is over and starts preaching to the audience when all of a sudden her hat goes up in flames.” Everyone at the table _oohed_ simultaneously, eyes wide. “Turns out, the fire-breather had come up behind her and decided to show the good Mother exactly what he thought of her sermon.”

Varric snickered, “I can’t imagine _that_ ended well.”

“It didn’t,” Strider sighed, looking a little wistful. “We didn’t have a festival like that again.”

“Where are you from?” I asked, curious as to which town Strider called home.

“Rossleigh,” he replied, taking another drink from his tankard. “It was hit badly during the Blight, but we rebuilt quickly. Couldn’t do much of anything else.”

There were murmurs of agreement from several understanding Fereldans around the room. They knew exactly what he meant.

“Angel of Death,” one of the playing soldiers said suddenly, tossing the card onto the table.

Groans were heard all around as hands were revealed. Lea didn’t win this round, only having a pair of Serpents and Songs. The victory instead went to…wait… _Jim_?

_Son of a…_

Scout Jim himself had been sitting so quietly at the table that I hadn’t even noticed him, and he had won the first round of Wicked Grace. I was so in shock that I barely registered Varric’s next comment as he gathered the cards and shuffled the deck.

“Just let me know if you want to be dealt in, Tamsyn.”

I blinked. “Oh, well…thanks, Varric. But not tonight, I don’t think.”

“Suit yourself.”

Rylen chuckled as he looked at his diminished pile of coins. “Seems she’s smarter than most of us here. Myself included.”

The game went on for three more rounds, Varric and the others exchanging more tales all the while. I, on the other hand, remained fairly quiet, content to just watch Lea play and listen to their stories. Each round, Lea kept her bets modest, so that she didn’t lose much. She won only one out of the three; the other two went to a messenger boy Varric had called Bryant. In the end, Lea came out ahead by only a silver, but that was more than good enough for her.

At last, when the game was finally over and everyone had to leave, we all set the tavern back in order, returning tables to their former places and clearing them of cards, steins, and anything else that had been scattered across the room. Varric stayed and chatted with several of the remaining soldiers, but both Rylen and Lea departed almost immediately to prepare themselves for the next day’s work, giving me cordial farewells before ducking out of the Singing Maiden.

All the while, I lingered for a bit, listening to the conversations as I took the time to look around the tavern. There was a guest book on the table near the bar-side door, and I meandered over to read the names. They were all in the common tongue, but thanks to my recent reading practices, I could actually decipher them. I passed my hand over the parchment, feeling the different weights of dried ink under my fingertips and smiling at the various notes some people left behind. On impulse, I took the inkwell nearby and carefully unstoppered it, then dipped the old quill that lay beside the book into the ink and slowly signed my name in the runic letters I had learned. Then, satisfied with my signature, I replaced the writing utensils and stepped back. It was something of a silly act, and yet it gave me an immense feeling of satisfaction.

That feeling ebbed when I realized it would likely not survive the coming storm.

\------------------------------------------------------

When I slipped out of the tavern at last, the snow clouds had finally parted again, revealing the bright light of Thedas’s full moons in the star-speckled sky above. I had forgotten there were two of them; this was the first time since I had arrived that I had such a clear view of the night sky. Most times I was already in my cabin when the moons rose. For a moment, I stood looking at the incredible expanse above – thousands of stars spattered across shades of blue and violet and obsidian black…impossibly deep.

As the tavern continued to empty, I decided to head out of the gates for a small walk to relax and clear my head before bed. The night seemed so peaceful, especially with the newly fallen snow blanketing the landscape in shimmering white under the light of the moons. It looked like the landscape from a Christmas card, and it was so bright out that torches were hardly needed, the stark scenery bathed in cool silver glow.

The only people out this late were guardsmen patrolling the streets and sentries perched atop their watch platforms adjacent to the palisade wall. A few scouts milled about the stables, but the nearby forge was quiet and the training grounds were empty. As I kept walking out towards the frozen lake, I was completely alone…and it felt good.

I approached the old wooden pier that stretched outwards over the outer edge of the lake, carefully making my way to its end to look out at the rim of mountains ringing the valley. It was really cold, now. I pulled my cloak tighter around me and shivered, my breath leaving me in very distinct clouds of mist. For some reason, though, I didn’t care. The more I stayed out in the chill, quiet night, the more I realized I _needed_ this.

I looked up again at the vast expanse of stars overhead and found myself lost in the depths of the void in which they sparkled. Everything was so clear and crisp, made even sharper by the coldness of the late autumn, mountain air. Not even the Breach could fade the brilliant heavens here, like the city lights did back on Earth, reducing the sky to a few stars in a sea of black. No, here the night sky could not be diminished by anything, manmade or otherwise.

How sad that my first real view of space was granted in a universe not my own.

Suddenly, my sense of wonder was overridden by an overwhelming feeling of sadness, stronger than anything I had ever experienced before. It was heavy…no, _crushing_ , its oppressive weight stifling the air from my lungs. I began to breathe faster, trying to get more air, and I could feel myself beginning to shake. At first, I wondered where it was all coming from, just like I had at the chess match earlier…

And then, it clicked, my mind understanding what was going on even as my body succumbed. It was all catching up to me. All the trauma…all the pain. I couldn’t keep myself from grieving any longer, no matter how badly I wanted to.

That first cry in the cot in the Hinterlands wasn’t enough. Prioritizing my need for survival and trying to hold back my mourning with logic was doomed to fail. My sudden emotional reaction at the chess table should have been a sign that the shoddy dam I had built inside was springing a leak…that the wall I had built to keep my emotions in check was crumbling down…that I could no longer pretend that moving on from losing my friends, my family, and almost everything about my life was going to be as easy as focusing on quests and war table missions for the next few years.

The wail that burst from my throat was almost inhuman, echoing around the mountains and bouncing off of the stone walls of Haven. Unable to hold myself up, I collapsed on the pier, my knees sinking into freezing slush as I gasped for air and keened my sorrow. I was sobbing harder than I had ever cried in my life. It felt as though someone had kicked me in the stomach over and over, like someone was strangling me and ripping my insides out through my mouth. The tears flowed so hard and fast I was blinded, and I could feel the trickling tracks freezing on my cheeks. I could barely breathe for the force of my cries. My hands were claws clutching at my cloak, pulling it tighter and tighter around me as I bent forward, unable to sit up straight. The night watch must have thought I was truly mad, but I didn’t care. Couldn’t care…

“Tamsyn!”

_Oh, shit…_

“Tamsyn! Are you all right?”

Cullen’s voice. His feet pounded the snow heavily behind me, the sound becoming deep and hollow as his weight landed upon the wood of the pier. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and look at him. I was still sobbing uncontrollably and struggling to breathe, desperately trying to blink away the tears fast enough to clear my vision, but to no avail.

“Tamsyn! Maker’s breath, are you hurt? Did someone…”

He trailed as I didn’t respond, and his movements were cautious as he drew up next to me, kneeling on the snowy pier at my side. Silvery metal flashed through the blur of my tears – his sword was in his hand. He thought someone had actually physically hurt me…had run to my defense…

“No! No…” I managed to say, though my voice was so strained I wasn’t sure he understood me, so I shook my head emphatically.

“Ser! We heard a scream. Is something wrong?”

“No, Allain,” I heard Cullen say to soldiers who had run up behind us, his blade scraping loudly in its scabbard as he sheathed it, “Return to your posts.”

“Yes, ser.”

I put my face in my hands. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to curl into a ball and disappear. Feeling tiny, devastated, and completely alone, I folded in on myself, fingers still clutching at my cloak as I trembled from the intensity of my pain and the chill of the night.

“Tamsyn? Maker…what caused this?”

Cullen’s voice was soft and coaxing, as if he were speaking to an injured animal or a frightened child. It was a difficult tone to ignore. Despite the embarrassment I now felt on top of my sadness, part of me wanted to throw my arms around his neck and never let go.

My breath came out in trembling gasps, and I lifted my head, but not to look at him; instead, I focused through my tears on the icy crags ahead of me, across the lake. When I finally found my voice, I croaked out, “It’s…all gone. It’s just… _gone_ …gone forever…”

He was silent for a few moments. Then…

“You never let yourself grieve, did you? You tried to hold it all back.”

Fresh hot tears spilled out at hearing the truth, and I nodded, even more ashamed for being so foolish.

“It hit me…so _hard_ …” I finally said, closing my eyes to try and stop the flow. “And it _hurts_ …it hurts so much…”

Even through my clothing, I could feel the presence of his hand on my back…the slightest push in it, as if to keep me from falling backwards. “Come. Let’s get you out of the cold. You will catch your death if you stay out here.”

He remained still, though, until I at last gave a reluctant nod. It was only then that he slipped an arm around my shoulders and slowly guided me to my feet. He kept his arm there, physically supporting me as he turned me towards the gates and walked me back to the village. My vision was still sporadically blurry, the cold air stinging my sensitive eyes, and I occasionally stumbled along the way; it was quite possible I tripped over his toes, but if I did, he gave no indication of it. Instead, he quietly but insistently pushed for my cabin, not stopping until we were both inside and the door fell shut behind us. I could only guess what the door guard, who was only there at night, must have thought.

Inside, the fire was crackling merrily in the hearth, and it was so much warmer than the outdoors that my face stung painfully at the contrast in temperature. I had finally managed to stop crying, but it seemed the tears were half-frozen to my skin and eyelashes.

“Let’s get this soggy thing off of you,” Cullen said quietly, unpinning the cloak, his lips thin as he frowned at it; it dripped with slushy snow a third of the way from the bottom. Blinking a few more times, I watched as he took it to lay it before the fire so it could dry out. Without its heavy weight around my shoulders, though, I hugged myself, feeling somewhat vulnerable as I tucked my hands under my arms. Sniffling a bit, I looked around and glimpsed the full washtub right behind Cullen. Someone must have had it filled before the Wicked Grace match. I would be lucky if it was still warm.

Before I could think about it much more, though, Cullen had come back over to me and was steering me towards a chair at the table in the middle of the room. As I plopped down wordlessly, I noticed him pulling his gloves from his hands and tossing them on top of the table before moving towards the washtub.

_What is he doing?_

Honestly, I couldn’t understand why he was still here. He had made sure I hadn’t been attacked, escorted me back inside, but why was he still tending to me? Taking my cloak off, making me sit down…what was all this about? My fuzzy, grief-stricken brain had trouble making sense of it all. My brow furrowed he bent to test the water with a finger before dipping the wash rag into it and wringing out the excess. He then straightened and approached me with the rag in hand. “Look at me.”

Blinking, I obeyed, tilting my head upwards. Quickly, but gently, he wiped away the icy tears that had gathered in my eyelashes and glued themselves to my cheeks with the tepid cloth. Then, setting the rag aside on the table, he gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “There. Do you feel a little better, now?”

“A…a little.” I nodded, watching as he silently moved to the other chair and sat across from me. “Thank you, Commander. You…you didn’t have to do this…”

“It is no trouble,” he shook his head. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling, but I…” he trailed for a moment, glancing away. “I think I can sympathize.”

I huffed out a sigh, “I don’t know what happened. It…I didn’t expect everything to just catch up to me like that. I was fine earlier today. I know I got a little down talking about my mother, but…I thought it was just a passing thing. And then I had tea with Josephine and a pleasant time at the tavern with Varric and the others…I…”

I leaned with my elbow on the table and put my head in my hand. “It just hit me…like the whole world just… _fell_ right on top of me.”

The chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “The way I see it, you were too afraid for your life before now to properly mourn. Your survival took priority over anything else you might be feeling. Once you truly felt safe…truly comfortable…you finally let go.”

Silence. I swallowed as I absorbed his words. It seemed as good an explanation as any.

“Sometimes this doesn’t feel real,” I said after a moment. “Like I can’t have lost absolutely everything. But I did. It’s all gone. And sometimes I just feel so _alone_. So helpless.”

At that, he leaned forward, and I looked up into gorgeous amber eyes, half-lit by the fire from the hearth. His brow was furrowed as he replied, “You aren’t helpless, Tamsyn. You are a survivor. You came here, determined to make things work. And you have. You are learning our ways and how to live here. Josephine tells me you are studying the written language. Strider and Delia both have good things to say about your training.”

I snorted my incredulity, glancing away briefly, but he shook his head. “Don’t doubt yourself. You are stronger than you feel now. Mourning what you have lost doesn’t make you weak.”

My tongue was dry as I searched his gaze. I wondered if he had had a similar talk with soldiers before. Or other templars. Or maybe even himself.

“And you aren’t alone,” he added quietly. “You have us to talk to, anytime you require it. Josephine, Leliana, the Herald, and I…we will make time for you if you need it.”

Almost overwhelmed, I looked down at my lap. Taking a deep breath, I began, “I…thank you. And I’m…I’m really sorry about all this. I didn’t mean to-”

My words were halted in my throat as he held up a hand to stop me. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You needed help. You offered me a bit of hope today, Tamsyn. It is only right that I return the favor.”

I blinked. “You’re…you’re not mad at me? That I know about…”

“And what if I was?” he asked with a shrug. “There’s nothing I can do about it, and I can’t exactly make you forget, can I? Besides,” he added with a small smile, “I’m rather glad that you admitted it. You didn’t have to be so forthcoming with your information earlier today. I appreciate that you were honest with me.”

I smiled back, suddenly feeling incredibly warm despite my jaunt out into the cold.

“But, if you are settled for now, I think I shall take my leave and give you some peace and quiet.” He cocked his head towards the bath, “And if I were you, I would take advantage of that before the water cools completely.”

He stood, slowly pushing in his chair and retrieving his gloves, but before he turned away from me, he inclined his head in farewell. “Good night, Tamsyn.”

“Good night, Commander.”

And with that, he finally left the cabin. But before he got out of earshot, the door slow to fall shut behind him, I heard him tell the guard, “Willem, ensure that no one bothers her for the remainder of the night unless the village is burning down. Not even messengers. Understood?”

“Yes, ser.”

I smiled again, feeling a sense of calm and peace fall over me once more. Then, after a few moments, I glanced at the bath and decided I would heed Cullen’s advice.

[ ](https://www.deviantart.com/auriv1/art/Point-Commission-Frozen-Tears-753718244)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork commissioned by SnippetsRUS and made by me! :D


	14. Chapter 14

_What an idiot._

_You can’t just decide you’re going to ‘get over’ something like that._

_Such a fool._

_What did you expect?_

_Moving on isn’t that easy, stupid…_

These were the self-deprecating thoughts that beleaguered me before dawn the next morning, when the haze of grief had finally lifted after but a few hours of incredibly hard sleeping. They consumed my mind in an incessant buzz, replacing oppressive bereavement with debilitating embarrassment that left me unable to continue my rest. Despite Cullen’s comforting words, despite knowing the Inner Circle would try to help me get through it if I just asked them, I still felt so lonely. No one would be able to fully comprehend what I had lost, even if they were sympathetic – not even Cullen, with all he had gone through. No one but someone just like me would be able to know how empty I felt. This grief was something I had to get through by myself…however long that took to do.

_But that doesn’t mean you should keep your feelings bottled up._

_You should talk to them._

_You shouldn’t have held back for as long as you did._

_Maybe you wouldn’t have subjected the Commander to that display._

_You really_ are _an idiot, aren’t you?_

“ _Ughhh!_ ”

Seething with self-loathing, I spun and kicked the frame of my cot after finishing my most recent round of pacing about my cabin. Pain exploded in my big toe as the heavy wood fully resisted the strike. I hopped up and down on my uninjured foot and spat curses, praying I hadn’t broken anything. At least the sharp, stabbing sensation and subsequent throbbing of my toe silenced my thoughts for a few blessed moments…

But it wasn’t nearly long enough.

_“I appreciate that you were honest with me…”_

That one phrase of Cullen’s kept coming back to haunt me; it replayed in my head over and over.

I sat on the edge of the cot and put my head in my hands. Cullen had no idea that his words of gratitude made everything that much harder on me…

I couldn’t forget that Corypheus’s attack on Haven was coming soon – in about a month, give or take a week or so, if I judged travel times accurately. The Herald would go off on his trip to do last recruitments for companions, visit Redcliffe to talk to Fiona, and then come back to make one final decision on the mages or Templars before pursuing one or the other in full. And after that…

Cullen was going to kill me.

But there was no way I could tell him about the attack. I just… _couldn’t_. Everything – the big enemy reveal, the near loss of hope and the escape through the mountains, the discovery of Skyhold, the raising of the Herald to Inquisitor status, the recruitment of Hawke and the resulting drive to find Corypheus and defeat him – _everything_ hinged on the descent of Corypheus’s minions on the town and the sense of impending doom that would come of the attack. If I breathed a word about Corypheus to anyone, if they were in any way prepared for the assault, then the whole plotline could go awry…to the point that I might not be able to fix it.

As cruel as it sounded, the people of Haven had to experience that terror and loss, realize that their delivery to safety was only made possible by Maxwell’s brave act of self-sacrifice, and subsequently trust that their Herald of Andraste really was an agent of the Maker’s will. The Inquisition _had_ to believe that about him, or it wouldn’t work – Maxwell wouldn’t be Inquisitor. If I gave them any heads-up, it would take the shine away from him…perhaps even cast it on _me_.

And no way in hell was _I_ going to be the Inquisitor.

 _But these are_ people _you’re talking about…_

This wasn’t a game anymore. Just like I kept reminding myself, this world was real and so were its inhabitants. Strider, Delia, Lea, and little Sean…they were all real. Flesh and blood. And they would also be in very real danger, along with everyone else in Haven. Could I honestly keep my mouth shut about it all, knowing their lives would be on the line? Knowing they might _die_ in the attack if I didn’t say anything?

I bit my lower lip so hard my teeth almost broke the skin. Did the end truly justify the means? Was keeping the Inquisition on the right path a valid reason for my silence…and their possible deaths?

 _“But it’s_ your _perception of the right path…”_

_“I can only hope that you are wise in choosing what to say and what to keep to yourself….”_

Leliana and Cassandra’s words swam to the forefront of my thoughts, making me sick to my stomach. I began to feel as the Herald must have felt that night we shared wine in his cabin; I didn’t _want_ to have to reduce these people to mere pawns for the sake of the story, and yet…

Suddenly, a subtle shuffling sound broke me out of my heavy thoughts, and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small note sealed with wax slide under the door. No knock and no call; perhaps the messenger was continuing to heed Cullen’s words. Brow furrowing, I rose from the cot, wincing at the pain in my toe that reminded me of my recent act of stupidity, and meandered over to the piece of paper on the floor. I picked it up and broke the seal, curiosity piqued as I unfolded it and read in a swirling Orlesian script:

_Lady Advisor Tamsyn,_

_This is to inform you that your current earnings for your tenure in the Inquisition are_

**_Sixty silvers and fifty bits_ **

_and will remain in Inquisition coffers until such time as you deem it necessary to withdraw funds and/or your service is terminated._

_To make a withdrawal, please speak with Ambassador Josephine Montilyet or send an inquiry to her office._

_Sincerely,_

_Ela Virel, Accountant and Scribe to the Lady Ambassador of the Inquisition_

I blinked. It was, in essence, my first paycheck.

It made complete sense that Josephine would retain the coin until it was needed. It saved time, effort, and was much less risky for everyone. I tossed the notice on my bed and made a mental note that if I ever needed my own cash for anything, I would have to see her first in order to get it. For a moment, I wondered what in the world I would actually have to spend it on; I already had everything I needed without any money at all…

But then I remembered I would need every last bit of it if I was kicked out of the Inquisition after Haven.

\------------------------------------------------------

“ _Damn_ , Tamsyn.”

Strider’s impressed whistle came after the fifth bullseye in a row.

My brows rose as I slowly lowered the bow, still focused the target. “You’re not the only one surprised.”

“Well, honestly,” Strider cocked his head, “you look like you’re wishing that target was some _one_ and not some _thing_. Maybe _that_ has a lot to do with it.”

I glanced down at my booted toes. The one I had hit had finally stopped throbbing, although it was still tender. “Yeah. Not in the best of moods this morning.”

The scout chuckled as he moved to the target and pulled the arrows free from the straw. “Perhaps you should come to practice pissed off at someone every day, if it helps your performance that much.” He shook his head and continued without looking at me, “Strange…if you are upset at yourself, you miss more than you hit. If you’re upset at something or someone else, you hit dead on every time.”

“Sounds like me, all right.”

After he collected all the arrows, he continued, gesturing with the handful of them in his fist as he spoke. “In any case, I was thinking about your progress. We’ve been gradually increasing the length of your shots, and you seem to be doing better with greater distances, now. How about next time we add moving targets into the mix?”

My expression was flat as I glared at him. “You’re kidding me.”

He grinned, gesturing for my equipment. “I’m not.”

At that, I sighed loudly in response and thrust my quiver and bow at him. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice in the matter anyway. “Well, Strider, I think you’ve indeed found a way to make me pissed off at _someone_ every practice.”

He took them, still grinning, and then bowed at the waist. “I, as always, live to serve, Lady Tamsyn.”

“ _Smartass_.”

At that, I suddenly saw someone approaching us out of the corner of my eye. When I glanced that way, I realized it was Varric. Upon meeting my gaze, the dwarf gave me a friendly nod of greeting. “Hey, Fortune Teller. Just letting you know, the Herald’s about to head out.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the stables. “If you’ve got anything he needs to be made aware of before this next expedition, I’d head on over there before he leaves. He’s in a pretty big hurry, last I heard.”

I nodded. “Got it. Thanks, Varric.”

“Not a problem.”

I then gave Strider a polite farewell, spun on my heel, and headed in the direction of the group gathered near the forge, where they were arming themselves for the journey. It seemed Maxwell was taking Solas, Vivienne, and Sera with him for this one. By the time I arrived at their gathering place, the companions themselves were already mounted and waiting on the Herald to finish gathering supplies. Cassandra, still garbed in her simple daily attire, stood nearby with her arms crossed, looking on. As Maxwell finally climbed into the saddle, fully armored, I tentatively approached and I gave him a friendly wave to catch his attention.

Thankfully, the Herald’s helmet didn’t inhibit his vision too much, and as soon as he noticed me, he nudged his mount closer. The horse was literally champing at its bit, snorting and tossing its head, its breath leaving its flared nostrils in puffs of misty air. I was suddenly struck with how heroic the Herald appeared in this moment, sitting atop his fiery steed, the scaled armor on his sleeves shimmering green occasionally from the light of the Breach.

“There you are, Tamsyn,” he said, keeping the rein taut as he held his horse steady. “We were just about to leave for the Fallow Mire.”

“So Varric told me,” I replied, moving beside Cassandra and craning my neck upwards at him, “What’s the plan?”

He shifted his weight in the saddle, buckles and armor clinking and rattling with his movement. “The plan is to investigate the Avvar situation in the bogs before Cullen’s soldiers are beyond saving, then head north to the Hinterlands to pick up Dennet’s horses and find this Warden Blackwall for Leliana, and, after that, journey to the Storm Coast to meet The Iron Bull and his company before coming back south to Redcliffe in order to meet with the Grand Enchanter.” He sighed, the sound hollow and metallic in his helm, and then added, “Any last minute words of advice before we depart?”

I glanced at my toes as I thought about what I could say. Honestly, there wasn’t much I could impart at this point – nothing all that worthwhile, at least. After a moment, I looked back up at him and answered, “Well, the Fallow Mire’s got undead in addition to the Avvar. You probably already know that from the scout reports. But here’s a word of caution: don’t touch the water unless you absolutely have to. The motion draws more of those undead out of the bogs, and they’ll swarm you if you’re not careful. Matters are being made worse by Fade rifts in the area. Take care of those, and the undead should lessen a bit. Plus, you don’t want to have to fight both demons _and_ demon-possessed corpses for long.”

“ _Ughh!_ ” Sera’s faced screwed up in an expression of obvious disgust, and she visibly shuddered atop her pony.

“This sojourn of ours is already sounding positively _lovely_ , Lord Trevelyan,” Vivienne remarked dryly.

“As for the Storm Coast, watch out for darkspawn,” I continued. “Take care of them from a distance if you see them, and don’t let their blood get anywhere near you – it’s how the Taint is transmitted. You shouldn’t have too much of a problem with them, though, so long as you meet Iron Bull quickly and then head straight back for the Hinterlands.”

“Of course,” Maxwell nodded, his helm flashing in the sun. “I’ve no plans of lingering anywhere any longer than absolutely necessary. I anticipate this trip to take roughly three weeks, barring complications.”

“I would expect those, given the state of Fereldan,” Cassandra warned. “So perhaps it is safer to assume you will be gone a month.”

“Or longer, if the weather is nasty,” I added. “The Storm Coast and the Mire both are particularly messy right now.”

“Then we cannot waste any time,” Solas observed.

“Indeed,” Maxwell agreed, adjusting his hold on the reins. “If that is all, Tamsyn, we will be off, now.”

I shrugged and half-smiled, “That’s it, I think. We’ll see you soon, then, Herald.”

“May the Maker guide you,” Cassandra said, inclining her head to the Herald respectfully.

“And you, Lady Cassandra. Lady Tamsyn,” Maxwell replied, mirroring her gesture before putting his spurs to his horse at last. Off the comrades went with a loud cacophony of jangling harnesses, neighing horses, and pounding hooves, clods of snow and dirt lofted in their wake. Cassandra and I watched them go until the tails of the band’s mounts disappeared around the bend, headed towards the mountain pass that led to the Fereldan foothills. Then, when they could no longer be seen, the Seeker turned to me and suddenly gestured ahead of her, inquiring, “Walk with me? I would like to speak with you for a few moments, if you have the time to spare.”

I was a bit surprised at her question, wondering what it was she wanted to talk about, but I merely shrugged in response, having nothing better to do at the moment. “Sure. Lead on, Seeker.”

She nodded and began heading towards the frozen lake, skirting about its edge as she moved past the training area and into the woods on the far side of the camp. As I followed her, I could hear the distinct sound of saws and the felling of trees in the distance; it seemed the Inquisition was making great use of the logging stand out there. The occasional ram, caught grazing in the snowy copse, bounded away the moment we drew too close, and squeaking and snuffling nugs darted out from around rocks and under overhangs, cocking their little heads at us in curiosity before scurrying right back into their hiding spots.

At last, we reached a high, stony outcropping overlooking the village, and Cassandra sat quietly on its edge as she observed Haven from afar. Curiosity piqued, I brushed away a spot of snow on the rocks and slowly sat down beside her. “What’s on your mind, Seeker?”

She sighed, and she was quiet for several more moments before she finally replied, “A great many things, Tamsyn. It seems I cannot silence all the voices in my head, lately.”

I nodded in understanding, crossing my legs at my ankles where they dangled over the rocky ledge. “I know the feeling.”

Cassandra fell silent once more, seeming to gather her thoughts. Then, at last, she looked down at her steel-clad feet and began, “I must believe the Maker is guiding us…that we are following his will by supporting Andraste’s Herald, and that we are doing the right thing by being here, standing against the Chantry’s bullheaded stubbornness.” She paused, returning her dark gaze to the village. “But there is some part of me that still questions it all. I cannot help but think that what we have done here will change the future in ways that will hurt us more than will help us, in the long run.” She sighed again, more heavily this time. “Perhaps I worry too much. But the last thing I want is for the Inquisition to be remembered as a force that did more harm than good for the people of Thedas.” She looked up at me, her lips pulling into a smirk as she added teasingly, “You do realize this is partially _your_ doing, don’t you? It is your presence here that compels me to overthink everything about the future.”

I chuckled at her words, knowing she didn’t mean to insult me. “Yeaahhh, sorry about that…” I said with a grin, which she briefly reflected in amusement before glancing away. After a moment or two, I added reassuringly, “Don’t worry, Seeker. As far as I know, the Inquisition will be remembered as the force that set things right when everything in the world was going wrong.”

“And you are here to make sure it stays that way,” Cassandra remarked.

“I’ll certainly try my best.”

We were both silent for several moments, watching the residents of Haven going about their business in the distance. But then, suddenly, she asked, “Tell me…does your world have a Maker, too?”

I was so surprised by the question that it took a minute to find an answer. “Well…it’s a little different per religion, and we have – uh, _had_ – many of them. Several religions had a Maker-like figure. Or ‘God’ as we called him, among other names. Others were more pantheistic…like the religion of the elves here. But our God was similar to your Maker.” I blinked, and my brow furrowed. “Is? _Was_?” I shook my head, honestly unsure of what tense to use, now. “Anyway, to answer your question: for some people, yes.”

At that, Cassandra’s expression shifted to one of intense contemplation, and she looked beyond me at something in her mind’s eye. “That is…oddly comforting to hear,” she said at length. “Perhaps they are one and the same.”

I raised my eyebrows at her suggestion. “That…would definitely be interesting, if true.”

Her voice was tinged with something akin to wonder. “It certainly makes things seem much, much larger than they are, doesn’t it?”

I snorted, “And smaller, now.” When she seemed confused at my answer, I added with a chuckle, “I mean, considering one of his worlds just _exploded_.” I paused, huffing out a breath. “Or maybe it didn’t, I honestly don’t know for sure. Solas seems convinced that even if there _was_ something left of it all, I can’t go back to it now.” I pressed my lips together and pulled my knees up, hugging my legs to my chest. “And, more importantly, that I shouldn’t try.”

She nodded solemnly, “ _That_ , I agree with.”

More silence. We watched as guards changed, training units swapped, and couriers ferried messages and parcels to and fro throughout the town. Then, at last, Cassandra looked sideways at me and said quietly, “The Commander told me about last night. Not precise details, but enough to let me know that your grief hit you hard. I am sorry.”

I swallowed. I had hoped she wouldn’t mention what had happened, or that maybe she had been blissfully unaware of it all. The latter had been unlikely, however, as my scream had been loud enough to rouse the guards…

Before I could remark, she went on, “I may not have experienced precisely what you have, Tamsyn, but I _have_ felt that kind of grief before. The kind that chokes, and blinds, and crushes. You will push past it, eventually. But it will take time. And you will always feel as though some part of you is missing.”

I resisted the urge to say “I know,” as it would unleash a barrage of questions about _what_ I exactly knew about her grief. It was obvious she was remembering the loss of Anthony, and how hard the tragedy of his death had hit her: how it had filled her with an all-consuming rage and desire for revenge that couldn’t be quelled until she’d been made Tranquil unawares. I inwardly snorted; there was yet another thing I had to keep to myself until just the right time…

“I do not know how religious you are, Tamsyn,” Cassandra continued, “but if you are, I know recent events must have tested your faith greatly. I pray the Maker grants you the strength to push past this great tragedy of yours, and that you find your peace of mind.”

With that, she slowly got up, brushed off her pants, and began to head back towards the village. I, however, remained sitting, absorbing her words as she walked away. My soft reply was more to myself than to her.

“Yeah. Me too.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Three days after the Herald had departed on his journey, I finally started to hear the whispers.

At first, they were small things, barely noticeable: heads nodding in my direction, accompanied by knowing looks; stares as I walked by; murmuring behind hands. But that quickly escalated into full-blown gossip bandied about anytime I was seen in Haven, the blather paused just long enough for the magpies spouting it to feel comfortable I had gotten out of earshot before resuming it at an even more rapid-fire pace. Unfortunately for them, my hearing was rather good.

That, and they really weren’t trying very hard to hide it.

“There she is.”

“That’s the one they say can see the future.”

“Hear Samill tell it, she fell out of a rift just like the Herald.”

“You think she’s like him? Chosen?”

“I bet she’s a liar.”

“I bet she’s a mage.”

“I bet she’s possessed.”

The expected rumors about me, of course. But then there were also the rather humorous suggestions that people ask me about their futures, as if I knew the fate of everyone in the town.

“…ask her.”

“No, _you_ ask her!”

“I’m not asking her! You do it!”

Of course, I knew this had been coming. But it didn’t make it any easier to deal with. In all actuality, it brought back recent fears of people here growing paranoid and trying to kill me. Hopefully, the weapons that were clearly visible on my person would quell any desire to raise a hand against me. Yet, as Leliana told the Herald countless times in my games, an angry mob would do me in just as swiftly as a blade.

Despite these worries of mine, though, I tried to hold my head high and ignore it all, going about my business as usual.

But then, I was met with Roderick.

I had just been leaving the Singing Maiden to go to my renewed blades training with Delia, who had returned from her mission to the passes the day prior. There, amongst a gaggle of Haven’s residents, was the Grand Chancellor himself. I knew he must have been indulging in the growing gossip about me, because as soon as he glimpsed me leave the tavern, he spun and began marching in my direction.

_Don’t show fear, Tamsyn. He can do nothing to you._

“You there!”

I stopped in my tracks – slowly, so as not to look surprised – and stared him down as he headed towards me, his fists balled at his sides. Hyper-conscious of my own body language, especially since the recent talk I had with Josie and Vivienne, I didn’t back away, instead standing my ground with my  feet planted and pulling my hands behind my back.

“Yes, Chancellor?” I asked innocently.

My tone only served to enrage Roderick further, judging from how red his cheeks flushed as he drew near – the color clashed terribly with his scarlet tabard. He halted a good few paces away from me, though, obviously not willing to come within arms’ reach. He was a small man in reality, I noted, almost even with my own height, perhaps an inch taller. Some part of me wondered if that contributed to his grumpy nature and over-inflated sense of authority…

“ _You_! You are the one who perpetuates this _farce_ of ‘knowing the future’,” he spat, his eyes flashing as he spoke, “cheapening this already heretical charade of an order even more than it already is. How very telling that their upper echelon has taken a charlatan such as you in as one of their own. Perhaps it is a sign that they are deceptive and lustful for power as you. Or perhaps it is confirmation of just how sordid and misguided the followers of the so-called ‘Herald’ truly are.”

 _Damn_.

As a storm of emotions rose within me in response to his words, I found myself sparing a glance to our now-rapt audience. Judging by the size of the crowd that was lingering around us, I understood right away that he wanted to use me to discredit the Inquisition in the eyes of the villagers and everyone else who supported the cause, especially after his attempt to do so prior to the Herald’s departure for Val Royeaux – an event I had not witnessed – had failed. I knew if I didn’t say the right thing now, he might very well succeed in his endeavor, particularly if people thought that someone who knew the future was far less probable than a person being Chosen by Andraste…

Raising an eyebrow at Roderick and swallowing back my burgeoning anger at his utter ridiculousness, I said as calmly as I could, “You know, Chancellor, _I_ find it rather telling you consider yourself so knowledgeable of the Maker’s will. You insist that the Herald, the leaders of the Inquisition, and I are frauds, but _you_ , on the other hand, purport to know the truth about all of us when you, in fact, know positively _nothing_ beyond your own unfortunate misconceptions. Your behavior, I think, is evidence of hubris in the extreme, and just as deceptive and misguided as you so fervently claim we are. But, I do acknowledge your bravery of calling me a liar to my face. I appreciate that.” I punctuated this last sarcastic statement with a polite inclining of my head, just to drive home the fact that I wouldn’t be intimidated by his accusations.

In the almost deafening silence that followed, I wondered briefly why being incensed made it so easy for me to talk like that…

I could tell it was taking all of his willpower not to launch into a mad tirade against me. His face was crimson, his chest heaved, and his fists shook with the strength of his anger. At last, though, after a few moments, he asserted, “ _No one_ can know the future! That is the realm of the Maker alone! _Anyone_ who claims to have such knowledge can be _nothing_ but a _liar_!” He briefly glanced around to the onlookers, then, as if seeking confirmation. When his gaze returned to me, he sneered, “I thank Andraste that you came here, however, because you are a crystal clear sign that the Chantry is right to denounce _everything_ that the Inquisition is.”

Murmurs rippled around us, whispers hissing through the air. There were so many, I could not catch any distinct words, but I knew that if I didn’t say something fast, Roderick would win, here. I was scrambling for the right words to counter him when, suddenly, I caught a flash of metal and a splash of crimson beyond the crowd…

 _Cullen_.

Someone must have fetched him when the people began to gather, possibly sensing another burgeoning riot. I smiled to myself, then, as I returned my gaze to Roderick, and I found within myself the courage to deliver one final punch. Lifting my chin, I answered him loudly and with all the authority I could muster:

“Your attempts to diminish the Herald will always end in failure, Chancellor. He will rise towards the heavens, and the Inquisition will rise along with him. And you and the Chantry can do nothing to stop it. _That_ , you will find, is nothing but the truth.” _Although you won’t live to see it_ , I thought, before adding, “I must thank _you_ , however, for continuing to demonstrate just how desperate you and your fellow priesthood are to rid yourselves of any opposition…and just how far you will stoop to accomplish such. I think that is a crystal clear sign that the Chantry has indeed failed its people, and that the Inquisition is sorely needed.” I crossed my arms and smirked at him, “Now, I’m not sure this conversation has accomplished much of anything, and likely was not what you had expected. But, if nothing else, at least we are clear about where we stand in regards to one another, right Chancellor?”

He was utterly silent, then, and the voices grew louder and louder all around us like the humming of bees in a hive. I thought Roderick might retort something, but he seemed to bite it back, instead turning from me and cutting through the audience at a brisk pace, disappearing beyond. Immediately afterwards, Cullen began barking orders for people to return to their duties, a few soldiers helping them along. I stood there, a little stunned by what had just happened and taking time to absorb it all as the crowd slowly dissipated.

And when at last the Commander turned to head back for the gates, his hand on the hilt of his sword, he glanced my way and granted me what appeared to be the tiniest nod of approval.

I had never felt so validated in my life.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the rating change and new tags.

Cassandra’s words had me thinking about my faith for much of the remainder of the day, seeping into my thoughts even as I trained with Delia, and especially as I continued my reading from the Chant of Light that evening. Back on Earth, I never would have entertained the thoughts of God being the same as the Maker. One was from a real religion, the other was entirely fabricated (even if it did reflect reality, in a sense). Now, though…

Simply put, my current situation turned everything I thought I knew about the universe on its head, including my faith. I was finding myself just as challenged in that regard as Cassandra and the others.

I was raised Christian, although my family and I went to church regularly in my early childhood, and we stopped going entirely by the time I was a teenager. We still celebrated Easter and Christmas every year, though, and we all engaged in prayer and read the Bible on occasion, particularly around the holidays. About the time I started going to college, however, I noticed my beliefs aligned more with a sort of soft deism rather than an actual Christian denominational doctrine. The _presence_ of God seemed more than a little far away, to me. I was okay with that, though. It made perfect sense, at the time.

Now, nothing made sense. _Nothing_. I had no idea what to believe. This whole thing had indeed struck a blow to my faith, and I was left struggling in the aftermath. Was Cassandra right in suggesting that God was actually the same thing as the Maker? I was in a fictional world made reality; did that mean the fictional Maker was real, too, now? Were any of Thedas’s religions really right?

Had any of Earth’s been?

Did it even _matter_ anymore?

Needless to say, I was more than a little troubled by it all.

When night fell, after dinner, I found myself wandering out to the lake again, watching as the stars began to emerge and the rosy remnants of the afternoon sun gradually faded to a soft, purple-grey twilight. Even though I knew I should probably keep my stint out in the late autumn air brief, my uniform was much warmer than my dress – and I’d finally worn my hat – so I didn’t feel quite as chilled in the evening air as I had the night I had been overwhelmed with crushing grief for my lost home and family.

This time, thank goodness, I had no fear of feeling that way again. I felt much better, and as I stood on the old wooden pier and the sky above me steadily darkened, I was able to look up at the heavens overhead and feel only peace, not sadness or emptiness. Though I had no misconception that my grief was gone entirely, it was absent for now, and I was glad.

I inhaled a deep lungful of frigid air and let it out slowly, a cloud of misty vapor escaping my lips and wafting away as it dissipated. Tension left with it, and for a few moments, I stood in solitude and blessed silence as the night enveloped the mountains.

At least, until I heard the heavy crunch of feet in the snow behind me.

I knew who it was before I ever turned around, the clink of small chains with every step and the slight jangle of a scabbard on its belt giving him away.

“Need something, Commander?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder to see Cullen approaching, his off-hand casually resting atop the pommel of his sword. At my sudden question, he looked a bit surprised, as if he hadn’t expected me to recognize him by sound alone, and he suddenly and rather awkwardly stopped in his tracks.

“I…no, Tamsyn, not at all.” He shook his head. “I just thought perhaps I would ask if you were all right.”

Such words of concern from him really shouldn’t have shocked me, but somehow, they did. It had been four days since the incident, and I hadn’t seen much of the Commander during that time. I had assumed he had done much like I had attempted to do – put the whole thing behind him and left it there.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I finally answered, adding with a bit of a nervous chuckle, “Don’t worry…I didn’t come out here to break down sobbing again.”

My poor attempt at humor backfired.

Cullen’s brows shot upwards, his eyes widening. “Maker’s breath… _no!_ I-I didn’t mean to suggest…that I thought you might…” He trailed and sighed, shaking his head as one hand went to the back of his neck in his telltale sign of anxiety. He then started to turn away as if to leave, “It’s…been a long day. I think I need-”

_Shit! Stupid, stupid!_

“No, Commander, wait!” I rushed forward to halt him, my heart pounding in my ears. “Please…I was just trying to be funny and obviously failed.” I could feel my cheeks blazing, and I was certain they were glowing neon pink in the growing darkness. _Curse my idiotic sarcastic sense of humor!_

To my great relief, he turned back towards me with one brow lifted as I continued, “I know what you meant. And I really, _really_ appreciate your concern for me. I really do.” I gave him an earnest smile and nod to emphasize my words. “ _Thank_ you.”

His subsequent expression was difficult to read; it seemed to be an equal blend of surprise, gratitude, and curiosity, but it was hard to tell for the shadows. Taking a breath I added, “Honestly, I didn’t thank you properly for helping me that day, either. That you were there for me,” I paused, swallowing a lump of emotion in my throat as my stomach churned. “It means a lot. You didn’t really have to do what you did, but you took the time to make sure I was okay. And I really needed that. So…thank you. Again. Sincerely.”

At that, he took a step towards me, and a hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, one that made my nervous stomach fluttering turn into outright flopping. The harsh, silvery radiance of the moons overhead threw his chiseled features into high relief, and God, did he look like a Grecian statue in that lighting.

“I did what I thought was right,” he said, finally, his voice soft. “I must admit, afterwards, I was afraid I had done little to actually help you. It is good to hear my efforts were successful.” He looked away briefly, “I have been wrong about the right thing in the past.”

I offered him a small smile of my own. “Well, you were right about this, Commander.” Then, gesturing beside me, I asked, “Stay a bit and talk?”

My sudden invitation surprised even me. _Where the hell did that come from?_

But even more surprising was when he didn’t turn it down.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the sea of tents near the training area. “I…have a few moments to spare,” he replied at length, sauntering up next to me on the pier. His polished armor flashed brilliantly as he moved. It took all my strength not to turn and stare at that perfect profile of his…

We both looked out over the frozen landscape side by side, then, and that was when I felt a wave of complete serenity wash over me, like it had outside the Chantry – a stark contrast to how I felt when he had approached me in the war room that time. It was more than a simple sense of peace. It was… _comfort_. It made my cheeks burn, and yet it also made me feel stronger somehow. It seemed silly – he wasn’t even that close to me, physically. Another person could have easily wedged themselves between us on the pier. Still, I was keenly aware of his presence.

Was it really Cullen, or just the fact I had someone beside me I felt I could trust? I didn’t really know. All I knew was, deep down, I didn’t want that feeling to go away anytime soon…

“There was something else I meant to tell you.”

Cullen’s voice broke me out of my thoughts, and I shook my head to clear it as I answered, “What is it?”

He glanced down at me as he continued. “Earlier, when you were talking with the Chancellor…I want you to know you handled it admirably.” He shifted his weight and looked back out at the landscape. “That man has a way of bringing out the worst in people. When I got word of the gathering from a courier, I feared what he might provoke you into saying or doing.”

I laughed a little, “In your words, Commander, ‘he’s toothless.’” That made his gaze shift back at me, his moonlit eyes squinting curiously as I repeated words from a conversation I hadn’t been personally privy to. Shrugging, I added, “Besides, I can’t really _do_ much of anything. And I doubt he believes anything I say, either.”

“Yes, well…still. He is a not-so-welcome reminder of what we’re up against, and not just in the Chantry. Don’t let him get to you. It’s what he wants.” He paused, flexing the gloved fingers that grasped his sword. “Your responses to his goading may not do anything to affect relations between you, but they _do_ reflect on the Inquisition.”

“You’re telling _me_ this?” I teased, pointing at myself.

He chuckled lightly, “Just because you already know doesn’t mean you don’t need a reminder.”

 _Touché, Commander_.

He was silent for a few moments, and then…

“You said you still had trouble believing all of this is real,” he said quietly. “If I may be honest, it is the same for me. Believing _you_ are real, I mean. And by extension, the world you come from. Not _this_ ,” he gesticulated at the area around us. Then, frowning, he muttered, “Although this is hard to believe too, sometimes…”

He trailed and then turned to me fully, both hands draped atop the pommel of his sword, now. “But what happened to you the other night. What you experienced. That… _that_ was real. I felt-” he halted suddenly, and I could see him swallow hard. “It was proof.”

I felt my brow furrow as I absorbed his words. “Proof I’m being honest or…proof I’m just like everybody else, after all? Not a demon or something but an actual person?”

“ _Maker_ ,” he shook his head again, glancing away from me as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t intend to imply that I thought you weren’t _human_ , it’s just…”

“I know, I know,” I sighed. “You’re not the only one struggling with that sort of thing. I mean, to me, everyone here was just a name on…you know, um…a _page_ before I arrived.”

Technically on a screen. But that was overcomplicating the situation beyond what was necessary.

“And now,” I threw my hands in the air, “they’re real. Every last one of them. And more besides. Not characters anymore. People. It’s tough. I get it, I do.” I said, crossing my arms. And then, I smiled at him in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “But talking through it helps.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips in response. “It does.”

Huffing out a breath, I glanced at the lake and then back to him. “You know, speaking of talking, I should probably make something clear. To you and to myself. And out loud, so I can’t just change my mind about it later.”

His brow lifted inquisitively. “And what is that?”

My lips pressed together. “That other world is gone. Period. That other Tamsyn…well, she’s gone too. Not entirely, of course, but you get what I mean.” I took a breath, held it, and then went on, “Whatever I was before all this? It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. Where I come from doesn’t matter. From now on, I’m a human in Thedas, so I’m Thedosian. And I’m Inquisition. That’s what matters, now. I’m not separate from you…I’m one of you. And not just because I have to be. Because I want to be.”

The corner of his mouth turned upwards ever so slightly, and he inclined his head. “As you say, Lady Tamsyn.”

I nodded, and it felt like it was more to myself than to him. It was a nod of acceptance…and finality.

“But enough about me,” I said at length. “What about you?”

He looked puzzled. “What?”

I gestured to him generally, “How are _you_ doing? You know…with your, ah, _situation_.”

He blinked. “Oh. Right,” he glanced downwards, briefly poking at a snow-clad pebble on the pier with the toe of his boot. “I am…it is manageable,” he replied simply, looking back up at me. “But…thank you for asking. I do appreciate your concern.”

I nodded slowly again, leaning against one of the posts on the pier. No details. That was fine. I wasn’t going to press him. All that I cared about right now was that he was getting through it all right on his own, and for the time being, he seemed to be. We stood in silence for a moment after that, and I shivered as the cold began to seep deeper past the quilted layers of my uniform.

“Let me…just ask you this one thing.”

His sudden addendum surprised me, and I looked at him quizzically. “I’m all ears.”

He sighed heavily, his breath leaving his lips in a cloud of mist. “How bad is it going to get?”

“Oh…” I said softly as he met my gaze, and I suddenly felt like I was being latched onto from the inside out. He really wanted to know the truth about how it was going to be. And I couldn’t lie to him.

“Honestly? Bad,” I said at last. “Some days it will feel as if you can’t bear it anymore. Like you can’t go one more day without the stuff. But you can. You will. Any time you feel that way, remember _why_ you’re doing it. And remember what I said before, at our game: it will get better. Promise.”

His eyelids slid closed for a moment. “I…understand.”

Silence. As I tried to think of what else to say, the thoughts that had been haunting me lately about Corypheus’s attack started bothering me again. Maybe I should impart just a little something…

_Tell him. Tell him now. You have him here. You’re pretty much in private. Just tell him. Tell him!_

“So, uh, can I ask you something?” I began, swallowing back the lump that had suddenly returned in my throat at the thoughts of the conversation I wanted to start.

“Of course.”

I tried desperately to control the waver in my voice. “What’s the day?”

His brow furrowed slightly as he recalled. “It’s the twenty-fifth of Kingsway. The last week of the month.”

I paused. “And, um…what number is the month, again?”

“The ninth.”

“So, next month is Harvestmere, right?” I asked. My hands were starting to tremble, and I pulled them behind my back to hide it.

“Correct.”

_Tell him. Tell him now. Do it. Do it while you have the chance. Do it while there’s still time to prepare._

“Lots of changes happening soon, then,” I said, punctuating my remark with a nervous chuckle.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

_Tell him! Do it!_

“We’re uh…” I cleared my throat. “We’re not going to be staying here forever, you know.”

He shifted his weight with the quiet creak of leather and the tiniest clinking of metal. “I had anticipated that. Haven is no place to house an army, of course, and we’re growing rapidly. We’ll have to find a sponsor in order to establish a proper base for us, but I’m afraid that is a matter for Josephine’s expertise, not mine.” He smiled a bit, and then added, “Speaking of such, the last I heard, she had some correspondence headed my way sometime this evening.” He glanced back towards the training grounds. “I should return to my tent to see if they are there.”

I smiled back. “Of course…don’t let me keep you, Commander. I’m sorry for distracting you as long as I have.”

“It is no trouble. And I rather enjoyed our conversation,” he inclined his head again in farewell. “A good night to you, Lady Tamsyn.”

“You, too, Commander.”

I watched then, as he walked away, slumping against the pillar I was leaning on, all the while cursing myself for my cowardice.

\------------------------------------------------------

_You should have told him while you had his attention._

My failure to inform Cullen about the terrible events I knew were coming nagged at me all through the night and into the next day. I knew I needed to tell him _something_ , even if only just a little hint. Something to keep the blow from hitting quite so hard. Something to keep so many people from perishing. Because I knew that if I didn’t…

A hard blow hit my shoulder, and I suddenly found myself supine on the field, Delia standing over me with her practice weapon at my throat.

“Someone’s distracted.”

My lips thinned as I squinted at her, her helmet blinding me as her head blocked the sun directly above us. “You don’t say.”

She snorted and took hold of my arm, pulling me to my feet with ease. Jerking her head at a natural pile of rocks nearby, half dusted with snow, she added, “Come on, let’s take a break. Maybe you can regain your focus after you rest a bit.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Nevertheless, we both headed to the rocks and hopped up to sit atop them, watching the other troops train with Cullen and Rylen. Delia took off her helmet, revealing a short crop of auburn curls that gleamed with sweat in the sun. She took a kerchief from her breeches pocket and mopped her brow, her chocolate-brown eyes focused on the throng of sparring warriors before us.

“ _Oop_ , the coat’s come off,” she remarked, nodding in Cullen’s direction. “You know things are serious when that thing’s gone.”

I looked to where she was indicating, and indeed, the Commander had shed his outer coat, revealing the vest he wore underneath, wrapped atop his cuirass and tucked under his belt. His armor flashed brilliantly in the sunlight as he tried to more clearly demonstrate a particular maneuver to one of his confused recruits. There was such energy and power to his movements, and yet they were so gracefully controlled that I was left slightly in awe of him.

He also seemed so much less bulky without that fur mantle on his shoulders, but no less physically imposing. Indeed, with his form-fitting cuirass, his impressive physique was even more obvious – broad-shouldered but slim-hipped, well-muscled and yet sleek; that lovely, subtle upside-down-triangle shape to his torso. He was positively beau-

_Stop it!_

I quickly tore my gaze away to halt the blush burning in my cheeks, and I sincerely hoped that my trainer hadn’t noticed the crimson that surely flushed my face. Thankfully, as I glanced back to her, I noticed she still seemed focused on the recruits. Sitting this close to her and able to see much more of her features with her helmet off, I realized she was older than I had initially estimated at first glance. Judging from the subtle lines on her face, she appeared to be similar in age to Leliana. It had me wondering what she did before she arrived here in Haven.

“So, Delia?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you join the Inquisition?”

She sighed, pulling up a knee and clasping her hands atop it. “Well, it starts a long time ago, actually. I used to be a caravan guard for merchants in Ferelden between Gwaren and Denerim, along the Brecilian Passage. Dangerous route, that, but it pays good coin. Made many a silver on that road.

“When the Blight hit, though, King Cailan called for all able-bodied men and women to fight at Ostagar, and I couldn’t justify keeping doing the same old when the country was in danger. So, I headed for the nearest recruiter, joined the king’s army, and was assigned under Ser Cauthrien.” She paused, glancing towards the ground, and then continued, “I’d been ready to die that day, fighting for my homeland against the Maker-cursed darkspawn. But, it wasn’t to be. When the moment for battle finally came, Loghain called a retreat and I, being under his lieutenant’s command, could do nothing but obey her…or so I believed at the time. When we got back to Denerim, our unit was promptly disbanded.”

She was silent for several moments, and her dark gaze swept over the settlement as she delved into her memories. “I knew I had to obey orders, but I felt guilty about it. When I heard about how the Wardens had waited for us, and how the king died,” she shook her head slowly, “I felt like I failed my people.”

I cocked my head at her. “You didn’t fail them, Corporal. You didn’t really have a choice in the matter.”

She snorted, “Didn’t I?” Her gaze was sharp as she met mine. “I could’ve stayed behind. I could have disobeyed that traitor’s orders and instead stayed back to help the king like I went there to do.”

“You would have died.”

“But perhaps my honor would still be intact,” she replied quietly.

I didn’t really know what to say to that, and so I fell silent again. There were a few more long, quiet moments before she continued. “Anyway, after the Blight, I resumed my old trade. I had been in Seggrit’s employ, guarding his wares here in Haven when the Conclave blew up.” She then looked towards the Breach, and I looked with her. “I decided this was my chance to redeem myself. So, I signed on for the Inquisition. I did a few gate guard stints before the Commander assigned me as a trainer, and,” she tossed her hands upwards as she turned back to me, “that’s that.”

“Quite the story there, Corporal,” I said with a half-smile.

“To you, maybe,” she replied. Then, after a breath or two, she asked, “So, they say you know about the future of all this. Do you know if I’ll be able to make up for failing that test of loyalty at Ostagar?”

I was quiet for a minute, thinking of how to word my answer so she wouldn’t be disappointed. I didn’t want to flat-out tell her I had no clue what her future held. Thus, I let my gaze wander to the troops again briefly before glancing back to her.

“Stick with the Inquisition, and I’m pretty sure you will.”

\------------------------------------------------------

That night, I had just changed into my nightgown and was preparing to go to bed when I suddenly heard a frantic, high-pitched voice outside my door, accompanied by the deeper tones of Willem, the young soldier who stood regular watch there after dark. Frowning at the commotion, I moved to the door, unlatched it, and opened it a crack to see what all the fuss was about. To my great surprise, there stood Sean, big tears streaming down his reddened face while Willem was kneeling before him, trying to make sense of what the boy was saying through his crying.

“Sean! What in the-” I started.

“ _Missus!_ ”

I was cut off as the boy practically knocked Willem over trying to get to me, throwing his arms around my leg. “Missus, it’s Ma!” he wailed, pulling at the skirt of my nightgown as he begged. “She’s in trouble! You’re the only one who can help her!”

Willem stood and cast me a concerned look, his hand on the blade at his hip, but I answered his questioning gaze with an affirming nod. We had to go see what was wrong and help if we could. “It’s all right, Sean. We’ll go. Just let me get my cloak right quick…”

“Please, Missus, _hurry!_ ” Sean pleaded.

I scrambled to get my cloak, throwing it about my shoulders so I wouldn’t freeze to death in my nightgown, and then rushed out of the cabin, jogging at Sean’s heels. Willem followed close behind me, his booted feet crunching heavily between my lighter steps on the pathway. “Something doesn’t sound right, madam.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed as we tailed Sean out of the village’s gates. What in the world could have happened to the master tailor that only _I_ could help with? It didn’t really make any sense…

I didn’t have time to say anything to the gate guards, but they should have been more than a little concerned at the sight of us running to the house adjacent to the forge. All three of us were puffing out clouds of white fog with every breath in the cold, and my slippers were already soaked from the snow, my toes protesting at the icy wetness.

Even at a distance, I could tell the door to the house was open inwards, and I could see the orange light of the fire spilling onto the ground outside. Sean was the first to get there, and when he did, he let out another cry, backing away in fear as he wrung his little hands in distress. His terror broke my heart, but it also made it pound in worry. What had happened? I heard Willem’s sword exit its sheath at the boy’s frightful noise, and as I reached the doorway, I carefully peeked around the casement.

I gasped. There, face down on the floor, lay the master tailor in a pool of her own vomit and blood. Even in death, the woman’s eyes were wide in terror, and her face was eerily discolored. On the table was a mug of ale that had been overturned, the contents spilled across the surface and yet dripping onto the floor in a steady trickle. I edged forward into the room, looking down at the horrifying sight and shaking my head in disbelief. It looked like she had been poisoned.

“Oh my… _Maker_. Sean…I’m so-”

The door slammed shut. Sean screamed. Willem cursed. I suddenly felt a large and rough arm seize my torso from behind, wrapping around my waist. Before I could even cry out, one gloved hand simultaneously clamped on my mouth and tipped my head backwards, exposing my neck to the sharp blade that flashed before me in the firelight. A scream rose in my throat, but didn’t make it past my assailant’s hand, the thick leather muffling the sound.

“Hey, what the- _get off of her!_ ”

Willem shouted as the door slammed open again, the wood cracking against the wall of the building. I struggled against my attacker as the blade hovered dangerously close to my neck. I writhed and kicked and dug my fingers into his arm as I tried desperately to keep his knife hand away from me. Then, I managed to open my mouth and bite down on the finger that pressed between my teeth. There was a grunt, and I slipped towards the floor as the hold on my waist slackened, the edge of the knife nicking the flesh just under the hinge of my jaw as I fell onto my knees. I scrambled away, flipping over in time to see Willem tackling my assailant to the floor…

…an Inquisition scout.

“ _Guards!_ ” I cried as loudly as I could as Willem wrestled with the scout. “ _Guards!_ ”

It was then I saw Sean standing in the open doorway, paralyzed with fear.

“ _Run, Sean! Run! Go get help!_ ” I screamed, desperately trying to snap the boy out of it, but to no avail.

_The door is open! You should run, too!_

But somehow, I couldn’t move, either. I was entranced by the deadly fight unfolding before me, unable to help and yet unable to leave. I glanced around, desperately trying to find anything that I could use as a weapon and praying someone would come in time…

The duel happened so quickly I could barely register what was happening. Willem and the scout rolled about, both trying to gain an advantage over the other. They knocked into the table, toppling it over and sending the contents flying. They slipped in blood and vomit, armor banging against the floor. They grunted, huffed, and cursed, grappling with one another. One moment, the scout held Willem against the floor by the neck, and the soldier’s face turned scarlet as he fought to keep the scout’s dagger away from him. The next, Willem had flipped them both over, struggling to move his sword, which was but inches from his opponent’s jugular and held just in check by the scout’s free hand. Both attempted to keep the other’s weapon hands immobile long enough to strategize another move…

And then, there was a loud clatter as Willem’s sword skittered across the floor towards me. In a split second, the soldier’s wrist was somehow sliced to the bone by the scout’s dagger, and before I could even react, Willem’s throat was slit by the subsequent slash of the attacker’s blade, having been exposed over the gorget of his cuirass.

“ _NOOOO!_ ”

I screamed as though _I_ was the one who had been sliced open by that deadly edge.

Willem’s blood gushed from him, his eyes wide as desperate gasps came out as gurgles; his young life ended in a matter of seconds. He collapsed onto the floor, unmoving beside the tailor’s body, and in that moment, I felt white hot fire searing through my veins and burning in my eyes.

“ _You fucking son of a bitch!_ ” I roared, jumping to my feet and seizing Willem’s sword from where it had slid near me. My assassin charged me, then, hoping to get a killing blow in before I could get my guard up. I spun to the side at the last second, his dagger barely missing my torso, and, unable to halt his momentum, he crashed into the bolts of cloth piled against the wall where I had been lying.

The sight of the bodies on the floor filled me with an unbridled rage. This time, it was I who charged at him, pouring all of my strength behind Willem’s sword. The scout easily dodged the blow, though, and the blade sliced only cloth as he clambered out of the mountain of bolts. He then seized the edge of my cloak and threw me down onto my back, jumping atop my torso as I tried to wedge the sword between us…

“What in the Void is… _Tamsyn!_ ”

Rylen!

I had never been so happy to hear that familiar Starkhaven brogue. That voice alone saved my life. In an instant, the scout jumped from me as quickly as he had landed on top of me, and before the Knight-Captain and his accompanying soldiers could block the doorway, he raced past them and into the night, fleeing the camp at lightning speed. Someone beyond my sight must have moved as if to give chase, but Rylen stopped them. “Stay back!”

“Yes, ser.”

Sean had vanished.

The Knight-Captain, his sword still in hand, rushed forward into the house, concern writ all over his rough features as he knelt at my side. “Tamsyn! Andraste’s ass, what happened? Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

_Safe…_

It was only then that I realized I was very nearly hyperventilating, my eyes wide as I could only blink in response to my rescuer. My heart was about to pound out of my chest, beating painfully against my ribcage, my blood roaring in my ears. There I was, half-lying on the floor, with two murdered people beside me, and I had very nearly joined them in death. Willem’s sword vibrated in my hand as I clutched it, my knuckles white and straining against my skin. The tail of my cloak was now soaked in the poor soldier’s blood. I was barely aware of a slight tickle and sting from the cut under my jaw, and I glanced downwards to see my own blood staining the front of my nightgown from the wound. My movement seemed entirely too slow.

“Ser…?” Two soldiers’ heads peeked around the doorway, as I had done.

“Go get Cullen and quick. Fetch Sister Nightingale, too,” Rylen answered, slowly sheathing his blade but not taking his stormy eyes off of me.

“Yes, ser!”

As they left to obey his orders, he then took my hand – the one clutching Willem’s blade – and gently coaxed me into letting go of the weapon, prying my fingers one by one from the hilt. “It’s all right, Tamsyn. You’re safe now.”

The blade fell from my hand with a loud clatter, as I suddenly dropped it. My whole body trembled, and hot tears began to pour down my cheeks, unstoppable, blurring my vision. My breath came out in frantic gasps; I couldn’t calm myself down. I tried to sit up fully, but I reeled, nearly falling straight backwards…

It was then that I felt Rylen’s arms suddenly slip under my shoulder blades and knees, lifting me from the floor as he stood in one fluid motion and moved to leave the cabin. His breastplate was cold and hard against my side, and I grasped at the straps that held it in place as though they were lifelines. All the while, he murmured phrases in an attempt to soothe me: “Easy, lass…It’s all right…You’re safe…We’ll get to the bottom of this…You’re okay….It’s going to be all right…”

But his words were muffled, as if he were speaking through a wad of cloth in his mouth. Outside, when he addressed someone coming towards us, his voice seemed very, very far away…

And then, everything went black.


	16. Chapter 16

The pungent fragrance of herbs and incense tickling my nostrils pulled me out of the deep.

My eyelids slowly fluttered open. Sunlight streamed through a window on the wall opposite me, stinging my sensitive eyes and making me hiss as I blinked against the brightness. I was lying on a small cot underneath a heavy woolen blanket, my cloak gone, but my nightgown still on. Someone had removed my soaked slippers, too. Frowning, I squinted as I didn’t know precisely where I was. I was in Haven, of that I had no doubt, but I didn’t recognize the room…

“Hey there, Fortune Teller.”

I slowly turned my head to see Varric sitting on a stool at my bedside, looking down at me with a gentle and reassuring smile on his face. He looked tired, though, dark circles framing his eyes. “You feeling okay?” he asked quietly, leaning a bit closer, one dark-gloved hand propped on his thigh. It was then I noticed Bianca’s stock over his shoulder. He wore his heavy armored coat overtop his usual scarlet linen shirt, and I caught the scent of old leather and smoke as he shifted his weight.

“Yeah,” I croaked out, my throat parched. Swallowing, I glanced around at my surroundings again. “Where am I?”

“Adan’s,” Varric replied. “Rylen brought you in here after you passed out. Mother Giselle, Ruffles, and I took turns watching you while Curly, the Seeker, and Sister Nightingale ran around the camp like headless chickens all night.” He chuckled dryly, “It would have made for a nice comical scene in my next book if it hadn’t been so damned tragic.”

“Adan’s?” I repeated, initially puzzled as to why I had been brought to the healer’s cabin for just a nick, or for fainting in Rylen’s arms…

“That little cut of yours,” the dwarf elaborated, pointing at my neck. “Rylen and the Nightingale both feared poison on your attacker’s weapon. Adan did his best just in case, but it looks like it’s all right after all. Not even a scar, I think you’ll be happy to know.”

I slowly sat up, lifting my hand to where the scout’s knife had sliced into me. Sure enough, the skin was smooth.

“ _Poison_ ,” I repeated, the scene from the previous night coming back in a rush as my hand fell back to the blanket. “That’s what happened to-”

“Yeah,” Varric cut me off and nodded knowingly, “that’s been passed around the camp twice over already, and it’s working on its third circulation as we speak: Mistress Ferguson’s ale was poisoned and a soldier got murdered in cold blood, all because you were targeted for assassination by a traitor from the Nightingale’s own ranks. Since you were brought here, Curly’s added new sentries all over the place and changed every single patrol and guard schedule, the Seeker’s taken all the rosters for vetting purposes, and Sister Nightingale has sent her best out to track down the bastard that did it before he gets too far away.”

“What about Sean, the tailor’s son?” I asked, my thoughts wandering to the poor frightened boy. He was probably scarred for life, now. “Where is he? How is he doing?”

“The lad’s with the sisters in the Chantry, last I checked,” Varric answered. “After Giselle finally calmed him down, she managed to get him to explain what happened, but Curly and Sister Nightingale both want to hear your side of it.” He glanced at the door. “You, ah, might want to get that over with as soon as you feel able. Between the two of them, they’ve almost walked a trench into the ground from here to the war room checking on you.”

I nodded slowly in understanding, a wave of sadness washing over me as I remembered the master tailor and Willem. I felt guilty for both their deaths, but especially for Willem’s. He wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t come with me. And neither one of them would have if I hadn’t been here, where I didn’t belong.

“It’s my fault…” I whispered hoarsely, fingers clutching the blanket where it bunched around me.

“No, it’s not, Fortune Teller.”

“Yes it is!” I snapped, my eyes brimming with tears again as I looked at Varric. “They wouldn’t be dead if I wasn’t here. _I_ should be the one dead, not them!”

The dwarf slowly shook his head at me, his warm brown eyes gentle as he reached forward and patted the top of my hand. “Don’t talk like that, Tamsyn.”

I glanced down at my lap, feeling the tears tracking down my cheeks. Upon seeing them fall, he stood from his stool and edged closer to the cot, opening his arms wide. “Come here,” he said gently.

I could do nothing but obey, leaning sideways into him as the tears flowed. He then wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me to him in a tight hug. It was then I realized that it was the first time I had been hugged in…well, since before I had fallen into Thedas. That simple fact alone made me cry even harder, my sobs muffled as I turned my head into his chest. All the while, he patted my shoulder with a heavy hand and rocked me a little, letting me cry my eyes out from the trauma I had endured the night before.

“There, there, Fortune Teller. We all know who’s really at fault here, and it’s sure as shit not you. It’s a traitor agent the Nightingale calls ‘Butler.’”

His words were meant as a comfort, but they made my blood turn to ice in my veins.

_Butler._

Butler, the traitor agent whose fate the Herald was supposed to have a hand in. Butler, who could singlehandedly turn the Nightingale to coldness forever, now that Maxwell wasn’t here to stop her wrath…

My tears suddenly ran dry as panic seized me. I pushed back from Varric and tossed the blanket off, swinging my legs over the side of the cot. “My God…I have to find Leliana. _Now_.”

“Whoa, there! What’s the…hey! You’re forgetting your-” he called after me, but I was already out of the door before he finished half-heartedly, “ _shoes_ …”

Barefoot, clad only in my nightgown, its front still bearing a faint bloodstain from the scratch Butler had given me, I rushed through Haven, accosting the nearest courier. “Where is the Nightingale?”

“I…ah…at her tent, ma’am…”

“Thank you!”

No doubt the poor messenger was bewildered by the incident, but I cared very little about what anyone was thinking about me right now. I had to get to Leliana before she started on a road from which she couldn’t return…

I hugged my arms around my torso and tucked my hands under my armpits, ignoring the rough pebbles and frigid snow underfoot as I jogged towards the Chantry. Sure enough, the spymistress was leaning over her table in her tent, intently studying a map she had unfolded on its surface. Not bothering to be subtle in my approach, I called, “Leliana!”

She glanced up, looking rather surprised when she saw me running towards her. “Tamsyn! Are you-”

“Fine,” I said quickly as I ducked under the tent, dismissing her concerns with a frustrated wave of my hand. “What are you doing about Butler?”

She cocked her head at me. “I see Varric told you already. Don’t worry, your attacker will not-”

Huffing in irritation, I seized both her shoulders, leaned closer, and repeated, “What. Are. You. Doing. About. _Butler_?”

Her blue eyes locked with mine as her brow furrowed in irritation, and it was then I noticed she had central heterochromia, brown ringing her pupils – I hadn’t been close enough to see it before now. She briefly looked as though she wanted to forcibly remove my hands, the corners of her mouth turning downwards as she glanced at one of them. To my surprise, she didn’t, however, instead replying tersely, “I sent word to my agents to strike him down when they find him.”

“ _No!_ ”

I released her, hissing as I turned away and ran my hands through my messy hair. I was too late.

Or was I?

“Is this a problem?” she asked, a bit of a challenge in her tone as well as a note of bewilderment.

“ _Yes_ , it is!” I said, whirling back around, a rock grinding into the sole of my foot as I did so. “You’ve _got_ to rescind those orders! You have to tell them to capture him, not kill him!”

Her arms crossed atop her chest, and she shook her head in disbelief, “ _Why_? Tamsyn, he killed two of our people and nearly killed you-”

“Yes, I know, I get it!” I cut her off, “he’s a traitor and a murderer. But he also has a _reason_ for his actions and probably has _someone_ he’s working with. He was a friend of yours, right? Then you know how good of an agent he is…and you can still use him in prison. Instead of making this just a revenge kill, use what he _knows_. And maybe find out why your friend turned from us.”

“What does it matter that he was once a friend?” she glanced away, glowering down at the map beside her. “He obviously is so no longer. He is a danger to us all, and he doesn’t deserve mercy for his crimes.”

“Leliana,” I said quietly, waiting until she looked back at me before continuing, “You are starting down a dark path. And if you let these orders go through now, you won’t be able to go back. You will become something you and everyone else around you hates.” I paused, scrambling for something to convince her. “Someone the Hero of Ferelden wouldn’t recognize.”

That seemed to get her attention. Her eyes widened briefly, and she looked down at the ground, silent.

After a few seconds of nothing, I added, “Do you remember what I told you? Back when I first got here? That I want the best possible ending for everyone?”

“Yes. I do,” she answered shortly.

“Well, this crap with Butler is part of that. And if you believed me then, you must believe me now.”

More silence.

_Please, God…Maker…somebody…help her see reason…_

At last, she sighed heavily, turning back to her table and leaning against it, as if for support. Then, after a moment, she replied without looking back at me. “Fine. Have it your way. I doubt my agents will find Butler before I send out new ravens. I will change their orders, and Butler will be detained, but not killed, since it means so much to you. Now,” she glanced back at my bare feet, “I would go get some proper clothes on. Since you are up and about already, I will call for a meeting in the war room while you do that. We need to hear your side of this story and brief each other on what has been done about it since last we spoke.”

Her tone left no room for further argument. All I could do was silently nod my thanks and understanding and go to do as she bade, praying all the while that I had dodged a bullet and saved her from herself.

\------------------------------------------------------

After returning to the cabin, refreshing myself, and discarding my nightgown for my uniform, I felt as though things were returning to some semblance of normal. And, indeed, new visitors to Haven who had yet to hear the gossip sweeping like wildfire through the town might never suspect that anything had gone wrong the previous night.

To the rest of us, though, there were already clear and visible signs of the event’s effects on the populace. There weren’t as many people standing around chatting. Everyone stayed on the move, hardly pausing to say anything to anyone. There certainly were more patrols, as there was never a moment when a soldier wasn’t visible on every street, walking its length with a hand on their weapon. Moreover, there was now double the number of guards at every entryway, even in broad daylight. Two had been stationed outside my cabin. Two more were now on the inside of the main gates. And, on top of that, four had been positioned at the Chantry’s doors, two on both sides.

Interestingly enough, there were no scouts to be found anywhere.

Thus, I knew before I ever reached the war room that the other advisors were taking this threat extremely seriously. Varric had not been exaggerating in the slightest.

I opened the war room door to find the others already inside at their usual positions around the war table, hunched over scrolls and stacks of parchment. Cassandra stood with them on the near side of the table, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the paperwork before her. All of them glanced up when they heard the door open, the Seeker turning around to face me, and they each bore grim expressions. Everyone looked completely exhausted, especially Cassandra and Cullen. Both had dark circles around their eyes from lack of sleep, and Cullen in particular was looking a little pale. His normally meticulously-styled hair was disheveled, likely from being run through repeatedly with his gloved fingers.

“Tamsyn,” Cassandra said as I entered, a note of surprise in her voice. “How are you doing? Are you all right?”

I huffed out a sigh, pulling my hands behind my back as I slowly approached the war table, the door creaking as usual as it fell shut behind me. “As well as I can be, considering I was almost murdered last night,” I replied, my sarcasm leaking out with my words.

No one laughed.

“I think I speak for all of us when I say that we are incredibly sorry for what happened to you last night,” Josephine said, her tone distinctly different than her usual. All optimism and eagerness were gone. “We obviously demonstrated a lapse in judgment, and we most certainly have paid a heavy price for it.”

“We made the mistake of trusting those close to us too much,” Leliana remarked. “We have learned the hard way that not even friends we thought we knew before can be trusted. Not anymore. The Inquisition has changed everyone.”

“We all knew and were prepared for the fact that we would become targets, but I do not think any of us anticipated that we would be marked for assassination by one of our own,” Cassandra added.

“Regardless,” said Cullen, “it is apparent that security measures are not as tight as they need to be. This would not have happened, or at least, would not have been as deadly, had the village been properly safeguarded from enemies both without _and_ within.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and then continued, “That is my responsibility, and I apologize deeply for my failure. It will not happen again.”

“The blame is not yours alone to shoulder, Commander,” Leliana added, turning towards him. “I should have been aware that my agents, even after being hand-picked for their loyalty, could and would turn on us given the right circumstances…and I should have known _who_ in particular would be likely to do so. I have also been far too lax. That will be remedied.”

I took a moment to absorb their words. They were taking this hard. None of them had blamed me, and yet, somehow, I still felt at fault.

“I…” I began, looking down at the edge of the table, “Thank you for your words. I…I can’t help but feel this is my fault, too. If I just hadn’t been so stupid…” I put a hand to my forehead. “Anyway…Varric and Leliana said you all wanted to hear my side of it, right?”

“That would help us, I think, yes,” Cassandra replied. “Right now, all we have are the accounts from the tailor’s son and Knight-Captain Rylen. As you can imagine, the first is rather muddled, and the second is severely limited. You are the only other person still alive who witnessed almost everything that occurred.”

I nodded my understanding, took a deep breath, and then began.

“It all started right when I was getting ready to go to bed last night. I heard a commotion outside my door. Sean was talking with Willem. When I opened the door to see what it was all about, Sean rushed at me, crying, begging me to go with him. He implied something was terribly wrong with his mother, saying that I was the only one that could help her. He couldn’t be consoled until I went with him. So,” I took a breath, “I decided to do just that. Willem suspected something was amiss, and so did I, but I had no idea…”

Emotions flooded back with my words as I sifted through my memories, recounting everything that had happened in sequential order. Forcing back these overwhelming feelings, I barreled on, “Sean led us to the tailor’s house. The door was open. He was the first to get there, and he cried out when he saw what was inside. Willem drew his weapon, then. I, being so _stupid_ , had left mine at my cabin.” I shook my head, distinctly unable to look at Cullen and sighing before continuing, “I peeked inside to see the boy’s mother dead. It looked like someone had poisoned her ale. I decided to get closer to investigate further, and that…” I swallowed hard, “That was when the fight started.”

“Take your time, Tamsyn,” Josephine said gently.

I nodded again, closing my eyes as I recalled the next part. “The next thing I knew, the door slammed shut. I think my attacker – Butler – had been hiding behind it, waiting for me. I felt myself pulled backwards, and a hand clamped on my mouth, just as I saw a dagger coming for my neck. I fought back, trying to get away, trying to keep him from slitting my throat. Then Willem must have kicked the door back open. I heard him shout for my attacker to let me go. About that time, I managed to bite Butler’s hand. He let go enough I could slip to the floor and crawl away. And then…”

I opened my eyes. Everyone was watching me intensely, Cullen most of all. They stood unnaturally still as they listened, as if frozen in place.

“Willem pounced,” I said, fighting back tears. “He and Butler fell onto the floor. They wrestled, both trying to kill the other. It happened so fast…I…I was trying to find a weapon. I called for the guards…I saw Sean just standing there, and I shouted at him to run, to go get help, but he couldn’t move, and neither could I…” A tear trickled down my cheek. “It was all so fast, and just like _that_ ,” I tossed a hand in the air, “it was all over. Butler sliced Willem’s wrist, his sword arm, through to the bone.” At that, Cullen winced and glanced away, immediately understanding the consequences. “And before Willem or I could do a damned thing, Butler slit that poor soldier’s throat…”

It was then that sadness and guilt finally choked me, rendering me unable to speak anymore. A sob wracked through me, and I covered my mouth with my hand as the tears poured out at the memory of my guardian’s senseless death. I gasped and shook as I tried desperately to rein in my sorrow enough to bring the tale to its conclusion, and I felt Cassandra’s gauntleted hand on my back, through my jacket, as she attempted calm me.

Taking a big breath, I focused on one of the pieces on the war table and finished. “I…I grabbed Willem’s sword from where it had landed near me…I stood up and I willed myself to fight that bastard. But…all the training in the world couldn’t have prepared me for a fight with one of your scouts. He tossed me to the ground like a doll…and I had been seconds away from becoming Butler’s third victim when Rylen came.”

A few moments of silence, and then Josephine nodded slowly, “And we know the rest.”

“So we do,” Cullen said quietly.

Cassandra glanced to Leliana, “It seems all of this started when Butler managed to convince Sean that Tamsyn could somehow help his dying mother.”

“Do you think that perhaps Sean was in on this?” the Nightingale asked.

Josephine looked incredulous as she peered around Cullen at the spymistress, the candle on her tablet flickering with the movement. “Leliana, you honestly think the boy had something to do with it? Killing his own mother and setting up Tamsyn?”

“He was involved, and so, naturally, he is suspect, to a degree,” she replied simply. “Tamsyn seems to know him a little better than we, hence why I am asking her.”

“No,” I shook my head, sniffling as I willed the tears to go away. I was tired of crying. “No, Sean is innocent, I’m positive. He was scared to death…he wanted someone to help his mother so badly…” I took in a shaky breath, meeting Cullen’s eyes across the table. “I was the one who was stupid enough to just blindly follow him. I should have known better. The tailor was dead already. I should have found Leliana or _anyone_ , no matter how long it took…no, I was too much of a fucking bleeding heart, and look what happened!” I hung my head and leaned on the war table for support. “Willem died because of me!”

“No, Tamsyn, he did not,” Cullen said firmly, a slight rattle of his scabbard accompanying his words. “Look at me.”

With great effort, I managed to raise my head to see the Commander leaning across the war table at me, his brow furrowed and a fire in his amber eyes that was very nearly frightening. “Willem was following _my_ orders. He was instructed to protect you _at...all…costs._ He did as he was told,” he jerked a thumb at himself, “as his commanding officer _told_ him to do. His death is _my_ responsibility, not yours, Tamsyn. _Never_ yours.”

“It is no one’s fault but the one who murdered him,” Cassandra added.

“We just enabled the environment in which he could succeed,” Leliana observed pointedly.

Cullen and I both retreated from the table, then, and I swallowed as I glanced to each of them in turn.

“According to Mother Giselle, there will be a funeral service tomorrow morning at dawn for Mistress Ferguson and Willem,” Josephine said at length, her gaze sweeping over the parchment on her tablet. “A pyre is being constructed as we speak, and I will be sending notices throughout the village this evening.”

“I will inform the men,” Cullen said with a nod.

“I have collected all rosters for inspection,” Cassandra glanced at Leliana, “They are awaiting your review.”

At that point, the Nightingale looked to me, “As for myself, I had already ordered my agents to track down Butler and kill him on sight, but Tamsyn had me retract those orders.”

“ _What?!_ ”

The response was a chorus of incredulousness from the others, and they looked at me as though I had three heads.

“Instead,” Leliana continued, her gaze not leaving mine, “she wants him apprehended, imprisoned, and interrogated, but not killed.”

“I assume this has something to do with what you know about the future?” Cassandra asked, turning to me with her brow lifted.

“Something personal regarding me, apparently,” the Nightingale answered for me. “I am humoring her…for now.”

At that Cullen added, “As you probably already know, I’ve changed our guard shifts to rotating schedules so that they are more difficult to memorize. I’ve also stationed new and more sentries at almost every major location in the settlement, with increased patrols in between.”

“Good,” Cassandra nodded. Glancing to me, she continued, “Perhaps between all our efforts, we can prevent such a disaster from occurring again.”

“I’ll be honest,” I said quietly, “That attack came as a surprise. It wasn’t part of the story I know.”

“Speaking of surprises,” Cullen pointed at a piece of parchment on the table with red and white ribbon on the broken wax seal. “I have received a letter from a Templar recruit under the Lord Seeker’s banner…Knight-Templar Delrin Barris. He was at Val Royeaux, and he was thoroughly embarrassed by the Lord Seeker’s behavior.” Cullen shifted, his hands resting atop his sword’s pommel as he glanced at Leliana. “Among other things, he has divulged the location of where he and his fellows were taken. They have holed themselves up in Therinfal Redoubt, on the eastern side of Ferelden.”

“The Seeker fortress?” Cassandra’s brow furrowed. “But, no one has been there in years. It is old, decrepit. It was abandoned because it could not be kept in working condition anymore. What would be the purpose in going there?”

“Why would you take your loyal men to an abandoned castle in the middle of nowhere?” I asked.

“To keep their activities from being observed,” Leliana supplied.

“According to Ser Barris, the officers among the Templars have sequestered themselves away from the recruits, and he senses that it isn’t to discuss what to do about the Breach…or anything remotely related to it, for that matter,” Cullen added. “He explains that the officers are conveniently ignoring what they swore to stand against in favor of some unknown pursuit that they won’t share with the rest of the men. Barris is tired of waiting, and he is suspicious of the Lord Seeker’s intentions. He is now taking the initiative and approaching us in hopes we can convince their leaders to do the right thing and face this threat to us all.”

I nodded, “The Herald’s alternate source of assistants is becoming clearer, and his decision between the mages and Templars to help him close the Breach will be Barris’s answer. I can’t say much right now, but once Lord Trevelyan returns, I can elaborate more on Ser Barris’s situation. I will say this, though – it won’t be stable for much longer.”

“What do you mean?” Cullen asked, brow furrowing.

I sighed, “It’s…complicated. Suffice it to say, Barris’s assumptions are correct. The officers among the Templars there aren’t concerned with the Breach at all. They are forming a plan that will serve only their own interests. The rest of the Templars are just there to provide strength and act as yes-men once that plan is finally enacted.”

Cullen’s frustration at the situation was written all over his countenance. The Templars’ inaction regarding the Breach greatly bothered him, and the fact he could do little about it bothered him even more. Josephine, taking note of his mannerisms, turned towards him and remarked, “There is some good news, however. We have received a letter from the Herald. It arrived just this morning by raven. He says that your soldiers have finally been released from the Avvar’s clutches, and that they are already on their way back here under Scout Harding’s guidance.”

“Thank the Maker,” he replied, looking visibly relieved. “That will greatly improve morale.”

The ambassador then looked around Cullen at the Nightingale. “He also says that they are now heading to the Hinterlands to finalize business arrangements with Horsemaster Dennet, as well as to seek out this Warden Blackwall for you, Leliana.”

“Good,” the spymistress nodded, “If the Herald can find this Warden, then perhaps he can put our minds at ease regarding their involvement with the Conclave.”

“Warden Blackwall will be there,” I said, earning a surprised look from Leliana. “It’s the Herald’s choice whether or not he ultimately joins us here in Haven, but he will be present for Lord Trevelyan to speak to. I have a feeling that he will be coming back with the Herald, though, to officially join the Inquisition.  Alongside Iron Bull and his Chargers.”

Cassandra shook her head and smirked, “We’re attracting all sorts, are we not?”

“Indeed,” Josephine chuckled, “but as long as they are here to help, that is what matters.”

\------------------------------------------------------

After the meeting was over, I found my trainers waiting on me outside the war room. Strider and Delia both recommended that I give myself time to recover from my ordeal, telling me to come back to them when I was ready to resume practices. Thankful for their leniency, I resolved to do just as they suggested, and for the rest of the afternoon and well into the next morning, I stayed holed up in my cabin, if not sleeping, then merely studying the Chant. There was something oddly soothing about working with the texts and getting lost in the various nuances of translation from Orlesian to the King’s Tongue. I was rather proud of my progress; I could read most of the King’s Tongue on my own, now, with help only once in a while from the Orlesian version.

_Knock, knock, knock._

The rapping upon my door came shortly before noon the following day, suddenly breaking me out of my readings. It had been pleasantly quiet and peaceful before then, no one sliding messages under my door or talking too loudly outside. The presence of Cullen’s new guards thankfully warded off any loiterers around my cabin, and so the only sounds the whole morning had been the distant hum of activity in the village and the occasional birdsong or call of a raven. Spending time to myself in such tranquility had done much to soothe my frazzled nerves and that, plus my blessed inability to dream, had also allowed me to push the attack farther behind me.

“Come in, the door’s open,” I called. I left it unlatched during the day, just in case someone needed to see me in an emergency.

When the door swung open, then, creaking slightly, I expected to see a courier of some sort. Maybe even Leliana. Instead, I saw Cullen ducking into the cabin and letting the door fall closed behind him. He held something in his hand, although I couldn’t tell exactly what it was.

Immediately dropping what I was doing, I stood to greet him, as I thought was polite. “Commander,” I said with a smile. Though I tried not to show it too much, it warmed my heart to see him again…

“Lady Tamsyn,” he inclined his head to me in response, moving slowly forward before stopping a few paces away. “How are you faring?”

I nodded, “All right. Is there something you need, Commander?”

He glanced away, pressing his lips together before returning his gaze to mine. “You probably remember that Willem and Mistress Ferguson’s funeral services were this morning,” he began. And indeed, I did. “Since then, Rylen and I have been debating about what to do regarding Willem’s personal effects.” He sighed. “The man has no family. All of his relatives were either killed during the Blight ten years ago or shortly following. Thus, there is no one left alive amongst his kin to leave his belongings to. Most of his possessions were issued from the Inquisition, and all of those will go back into circulation at the armory, but this,” he lifted the hand that held what I now saw was a long parcel, “ _this_ is not ours.”

He moved closer, letting the rough, dark cloth that loosely bound the bundle fall away as he held the object out in across both his palms. There, in Cullen’s hands, was Willem’s sword, freshly polished and sheathed in its scabbard, both a belt and baldric folded with it. It was the first time I had actually taken a good look at it. All told, it was about a foot longer than my own sword, with a gently curved crossguard only barely wider than the blade itself and a smooth, acorn-shaped pommel – all shining silvery steel. The blade was actually rather broad, judging from the width of the scabbard in which it was housed. Its short grip, made only for one hand, was wrapped in plain brown leather that matched the sheath. Overall, it was rather ordinary, but it was still beautiful in its own way.

“According to those who knew him well in the ranks, this sword was a family heirloom,” Cullen continued, eyes scanning the length of the weapon in his hands. “Apparently, it was passed down from Willem’s great grandfather, who forged it during the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden. Rylen and I both felt it was too sentimental to just throw onto the racks at the smithy. So, I decided to ask you if you would like to have it.”

I felt my mouth drop open, and for a moment, I had no idea what to say. I was completely stunned by the gesture.

“If you don’t want it, you don’t have to take it, of course,” Cullen added hastily, “but I thought you might…”

His words died in his throat as I cautiously reached forward and lifted the whole bundle from his hands…carefully, gently, as though it might crumble in my grasp.

“Of course I will take it, Commander,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper as I felt fresh tears stinging hotly in my eyes. “I will wear it always. To honor his memory. His sacrifice. Even if I never use it, I will still wear it.” It was a promise, and I meant it.

At that, Cullen put a hand on my shoulder, looking me in the eye. “Willem’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain, Tamsyn. That you yet breathe is proof of that. He fought and died to keep you alive. And he succeeded. Rylen may have been the one to scare Butler away, but it was Willem who bought the time he needed to come to your aid.” He glanced down at the sword and nodded. “Wear it well.”

I nodded slowly, swallowing back the tears and smiling at him. “Thank you. I’ll strive to be worthy of it.”

Seemingly satisfied with my response, he turned, then, and was halfway to the door when I added abruptly, “And Commander?”

He looked back over his shoulder, his hand braced on the hilt of his own weapon, “Yes?”

I took a breath. “Thank the Knight-Captain for me, would you? I couldn’t when I was rescued, and I don’t know when I’ll see him next. If you could just…pass along my thanks for my life, I would be grateful.”

A smile pulled at his lips, “I will, Tamsyn.”

And with that, he left, and I remained watching until the door fell closed once more in his wake.


	17. Chapter 17

_Thwack…crack!_

The arrow loosed from my bow pierced the broken vase dead center, raining pottery shards all over the freshly-fallen snow. With no more targets left to throw, Strider tossed his gloved hands upwards and shook his head with a slight smile, almost in disbelief. For the past week, I had been practicing with Strider’s moving target method, which consisted of him throwing useless bits of junk into the air and me shooting them down. It had been incredibly difficult at first, but I knew I _had_ to succeed. Butler’s attack left me determined that I would not be defenseless again. Under any circumstance.

In addition to my shortsword and dagger, I wore my own modest bow now, custom crafted by the bowyers at the forge, with a quiver of thirty arrows atop its sheathe. Slung from its baldric across my back, beside the bow and quiver, was Willem’s sword. It wasn’t a practical position from which to draw a blade, but my hip was already occupied by my shortsword, and I didn’t really plan on wielding the longer sword unless I had to. It was more of a symbolic gesture than anything else. Still, it _was_ a weapon, and if I was forced to use it, I would.

Moreover, I had also made it a habit to wear my Inquisition breastplate atop my uniform every single day. Though it was less likely that someone would try to attack me in broad daylight, I still felt it pertinent to get used to wearing it. Its weight, like that of my weapons, wasn’t a burden, and instead was comforting; knowing there was a layer of fine steel acting as a barrier between my vital organs and the outside world was more than a small reassurance, especially given recent events.

Strider’s gesture for my bow broke me out of my thoughts. I handed the practice bow and quiver to the scout, and he gave me a nod of approval. “I think you’ve improved more in the last week than you have during your entire training put together there, Lady Tamsyn.”

I sighed a misty breath, smoothing my hair under my hat – now a necessary accessory with winter looming near – as he turned to stow away the practice gear. “I don’t want to be a crying damsel, Strider. No one else will die for me. The next time something happens to me, I’m going to save myself.”

He glanced back at me mid-movement, and his brows rose under his hood. “A bold declaration.”

“It’s a promise,” I replied shortly, my hands on my hips.

He squinted, his sharp eyes piercing as they met mine. “And you’re sure you can keep that promise?” he asked, the skepticism obvious in his tone as he turned back to his task.

Before I could answer, there was a raucous cawing and a rush of wings as a huge raven landed on my shoulder. I stumbled sideways in surprise at the sudden arrival of the winged messenger, but somehow resisted the urge to bat the bird away from me. Bound to its leg were two rolls of parchment, which I quickly removed from it with a firm tug of the leather band on its ankle. Once free of its burden, the raven immediately took off, cawing again in its flight as it headed towards the Chantry.

“Do they _have_ to do that right in your ear?” I winced, rubbing the side of my head as my eardrum throbbed from the volume of the noise the bird had made.

“Just wait ‘till they wake you up in the middle of the night standing on your chest, staring at you with those beady little demon eyes and making that racket,” Strider remarked dryly as he walked past me towards the gates. Something told me he was speaking from personal experience. “See you tomorrow, Tamsyn.”

“Yeah, see you,” I said absently as I unrolled the first piece of paper I came to. The message written upon it, conveniently penned in Orlesian script, was rather short.

_Tamsyn,_

_Butler has been captured. My agents say he put up quite the fight before he was finally disarmed and surrendered. Farrier was killed in the brawl. I hope this mercy of yours was worth the loss of one of my best._

_I have sent along correspondence regarding the Herald’s progress with this note. It is not worth calling a meeting over, but I felt you should stay informed._

_~ L_

I let out a pent-up breath. The Nightingale’s ire was palpable. Apparently Farrier couldn’t be saved, regardless of the fact Butler had been exposed in an entirely different way than he had in the game, thus sparing the former scout’s life for a time. Shaking my head and trying not to think about it, I moved on to the next piece of parchment to find it filled with messages in the common tongue, the runes of varied sizes and styles. I squinted as I concentrated on exercising my new language skills with this new challenge.

_Leliana,_

_I have just received another letter from the Herald. Warden-Constable Blackwall has indeed been found and has decided to join the Inquisition. However, according to what the Herald has said, this Warden knows nothing about the disappearance of his fellows. Apparently, he is just as curious about the matter as you are._

_~ Josephine_

_That is not precisely a comfort. Though I am glad he has decided to join us, the fact he knows nothing about the Wardens’ vanishing from Orlais and Ferelden leaves me even more concerned. Was he left behind on purpose? Kept in the dark for some reason? Or have we simply found him first? We must have more answers._

_~ L_

_If he is telling the truth. This is the Wardens we are dealing with. They are a secretive lot, and I do not think they would divulge such secrets willingly._

_~ Cullen_

_I will speak with him personally when he arrives._

_~ Cassandra_

_The Herald seems to believe Blackwall’s claims of ignorance, but I agree it would be wise to ask him more questions when the party returns._

_Also, Commander, the Herald mentioned that Horsemaster Dennet has now officially pledged his herds to the Inquisition. You should know that it will take some weeks to fully prepare the mounts for travel, however._

_~ Josephine_

_Understood. We will also make preparations for their arrival and ensure the roads are secure for transport. Dennet’s herds will help bolster the Inquisition’s forces immensely. We cannot afford to lose these mounts to bandits along the way._

_~ Cullen_

Once I reached the end of the informative exchange, I rolled both pieces of parchment back up and sighed again, glancing out over the village and the troops training in greater numbers before it. The plot was advancing rather steadily, now. Once the Herald found Bull, he would be on his way back to Redcliffe to talk with Fiona. If weather held, I presumed that it would take a little over a week for Maxwell to finally get back to Haven.

And then, things would start to get just a wee bit intense…

\------------------------------------------------------

I had yet to tell Cullen about the coming attack.

As the person in charge of Haven’s forces and security, he was the one who needed the information more than anyone else at camp. But anytime I tried to think of a way to tell him about it, my stomach churned until I felt as though I would vomit.

My dilemma preyed on my mind day and night, during almost all of my activities, entertaining or otherwise. Nothing could fully distract me. Josephine had given me a new book – an Orlesian play – to read for fun, and I couldn’t enjoy it for the nagging thoughts hovering in the back of my mind. She had even hosted a few more afternoon teas, and I found myself barely engaged in her talks, answering her friendly inquiries with minimal responses. Varric arranged Wicked Grace matches every other evening, which I attended with Lea, but despite the laughter and stories shared, I couldn’t find any comfort in their company…not when I knew they could very well be dead within a month if I didn’t say something.

It didn’t help matters that I was lacking in opportunities to talk with the Commander. He was busier now than ever before, now that recruitment numbers were swelling dramatically – the promise of good money and an end to chaos tearing up the land, as well as the Herald’s increasing renown, brought many into the Inquisition’s fold, particularly its forces. And there was no way I was going to barge into Cullen’s tent or interrupt his training exercises only to find myself tongue-tied and stammering and wasting his precious time.

On top of that, as if I didn’t have enough to worry about, thoughts about the Herald’s decision between the mages and the Templars were beginning to haunt me, too. I was certain that, upon Maxwell’s return from Redcliffe, he would want to pursue the mages. It was only natural. It was the closer target, and it would also be the situation he knew most about after seeing Fiona and Alexius. On top of that, once he found out what had happened to Fiona and the other rebels, he would not want to let that Tevinter presence fester. Not if he had a brain in his head.

But if he did side with the mages, as I fully expected him to, then that would leave the good Ser Barris and his loyalist Templars to die.

_“Who can do that and walk away with a clear conscience?”_

Maxwell’s words from the night we had spoken in his cabin echoed in my mind as I agonized over the next war table meeting, and I realized I fully shared in his sentiments. I began to think I had been a fool to keep my silence about the true extent of the Templars’ situation at the last gathering. I should have told it all to them _then_ if I wanted to make sure Ser Barris and his fellows would avoid their grisly fate.

But perhaps…

Perhaps there was a way to save them, yet. Maybe there was still time. If I told them about what was happening at Therinfal Redoubt, even if Maxwell chose the mages, perhaps I could convince the advisors to at least send a letter to Barris to tell him to get the hell out of there before they turned into Red Templars or were killed.

Maybe I could make a little difference after all.

If I could just find the courage to open my mouth and talk…


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter makes up for the comparatively short length of the last one. ;) 
> 
> Heads-up for more Cullen and Tamsyn interaction, too! :D Enjoy!

Four days later, word came from the Herald that Iron Bull and his Chargers had joined the Inquisition.

Five days after that, they all returned to Haven at last.

The town was significantly busier than it had been a month prior. More people were here than ever before; between the refugee pilgrims, the hired workers, the merchants, the messengers, the visiting nobles, the new recruits, the established soldiers, the scouts, the handful of remaining mages and Templars, and the Chantry members, Haven was nearly overflowing. The constant noise of activity that was inescapable even in my cabin, before merely a low drone, was now almost a roar. Moreover, so many new visitors to the camp and joiners to the Inquisition brought additional sights and smells too, threatening to send one not used to such hubbub into sensory overload.

There were the Orlesians with their gaudy garments and pungent perfumes; the Fereldans with their barking dogs (mabari and hunting hounds both); the dwarven merchants and other vendors with their encumbered, rattling carts and groaning, sweaty brontos (the latter of which were some of the most bizarre and primitive-looking creatures I had ever seen up close and personal)…all these new people and animals and various odors atop the never-ceasing hammering at the forge, the neighing of old draft horses and mining ponies, the yelling and clashing of the troops outside the walls, and the usual distinct scent of Haven that was a mixture of heady pine, musty leather, hot metal, and wood smoke.

It was almost more than a body could take and stay sane.

But despite this strange enigma of orderly chaos that had become the _modus operandi_ for the infant Inquisition, the return of the Herald and his company was an event that couldn’t be missed. It was like watching a shark swim through a school of fish: Maxwell’s party suddenly appeared riding around the walls towards the stables, and the travelers on the dirt road parted to watch them pass, wide-eyed and gaping. Soldiers not engaged in training with Cullen or his lieutenants gathered in groups to gossip. Nobles and pilgrims peeked out of the gates to get a glimpse of the fabled Herald and his comrades. And there I was, in the middle of it all, sitting atop one of the pedestals flanking the main entrance.

Accompanying Maxwell, Sera, Solas, and Vivienne were Iron Bull and his Chargers, as well as Warden Blackwall. The latter rode behind Maxwell, griffon helm gleaming in the early afternoon sun. The Bull and his mercenaries followed in their own group after the main party, with Krem riding a fluffy painted horse alongside the Chief himself, who merely walked. I followed them all with my gaze as they clattered and clopped before the gates on their way to the forge area, but I stayed put for now. I knew there would be a meeting called soon enough.

A movement out of the corner of my eye made me glance back to my right. As if he had read my mind, Cullen was heading towards me from the training area, his coat blown behind him with the strength of the uncomfortably-chill wind. I hopped off of the pedestal as he approached, and he gave me a quick nod of greeting. “Tamsyn. I’m going to gather my reports and head for the war room. If you would, inform the Herald that he should meet us there as soon as he has a moment.”

“Sure thing, Commander,” I replied. As he then turned from me for his tent, I dodged a merchant’s cart rolling into the town and began walking towards the forge. Iron Bull’s Chargers were already dismounted and disarming themselves, and as I neared, Krem waved to me to get my attention. Seeing as the Herald still seemed a bit busy with his own gear, I meandered towards Bull’s lieutenant. “Yes?”

“Cremisius Aclassi,” Krem said with a salute, “Lieutenant of the Bull’s Chargers. I see your uniform…are you someone in the know around these parts?”

I chuckled at his choice of words. “Probably one of the most ‘in the know’ people you can find here, Lieutenant.”

He smiled and jerked a thumb at the others, “Excellent. We’ve recently arrived with the Herald to help with the cause. Could you do us a big favor and point us in the direction of the nearest tavern? I think we could all do with a drink to wash the dust from our throats.”

Behind him, there was a chorus of agreement from the Chargers.

I grinned. “You’ll want the Singing Maiden. Only tavern in town. It’s right about the center of the village, second tier, nice big iron maiden sign above the doors. You can’t miss it.”

“Right,” Krem nodded in understanding, another, broader smile of his own spreading across his face, “Thank you. I suppose we’ll see you around, then.”

I stepped aside to let the rowdy group pass. “Welcome to the Inquisition.”

As the company cleared out and the rest of the companions finished stowing their equipment, I leaned sideways against one of the wooden posts outside the forge. Vivienne was the first of Maxwell’s companions to turn away from her tasks, and as she strode towards me, she gave me a slight smile. “Well, Tamsyn…it turns out you were right about everything again. You, my dear, are certainly an asset we cannot afford _not_ to have with us. I don’t mean to imply that I doubted you for a moment, but I must admit that I had secretly hoped you were wrong about the conditions in the bogs.”

I smirked at the Enchanter. “What? No rainbows and unicorns in the marshes of Ferelden?” I was partially teasing her, but also partially jabbing at her.

“Not a one,” she replied dryly before sauntering past me, the faint smell of some flowery perfume wafting in her wake. Likely an attempt to cover the smell of soggy leather.

And it was then that Solas approached me. I plastered a smile to my face in an attempt to hide the wave of anxiousness that swept over me, though I doubted its effectiveness. I had been rather happy with him out of the village. It meant he couldn’t ask me any questions or try to find me in the Fade at night. Some part of me wondered if he had already been attempting that, and whether or not he could find any trace of me, despite my lack of dreams.

“Ah, Tamsyn. As you are likely already aware, our trip to Ferelden has indeed borne fruit,” he remarked, sparing a glance to the Breach as it shimmered with energy. “We have new allies, as you’ve no doubt seen,” he gestured to Iron Bull and Blackwall, who stood talking with Maxwell, “and we have also done much to stabilize the Veil.” He then turned back to me, and his brow furrowed, “However, it seems a dire situation has arisen in Redcliffe. You know more of this, too, do you not?”

I felt my own brow furrowing a little. Was what he saw there bothering him? And if so, why? “I do.”

He seemed satisfied with my answer. “Good. The Herald and your fellow advisors should know every detail possible before proceeding. That this is a dangerous and disturbing development is no exaggeration.” He turned back for a moment to watch Maxwell and the others, and I saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. Did Alexius’s time magic really worry him? Or did he see it as a mere threat to his own future plans? A possible weapon to be used against him at some point? Was that why he saw it as dangerous?

The fact I couldn’t have answers to these questions irked me.

“Yeah, this next meeting isn’t going to be the easiest one,” I finally said, turning and leaning back on the post and bringing one foot up under me.

Solas glanced back to me. “My advice? Do and say what you must to see the Herald through. You are in an advantageous position, Tamsyn. You have the power to change the world to suit your whims and the opportunity to save many lives. There are many who would be envious of such.”

“Are you?” The question was out before I could stop it, and I suddenly felt my heart skip a beat.

That silenced the elf for a moment, and I couldn’t read the expression that momentarily flickered across his face…the shimmer of _something_ that danced behind his pale eyes. Finally, he replied musingly, “I will admit…if I could go back in time, to the beginning of the story _I_ know, and change everything according to what I understand about the world today, I would do it without a moment’s hesitation.”

I slowly nodded, then, focusing my gaze on the toe of my boot. I believed him.

He then wordlessly left my side, headed for the gates, his footsteps soft in the snow, and it was only then that I dared look up again. Sera, I noticed, was now nowhere to be found, having slipped away sometime during my conversations with Vivienne and Solas, and I began to wonder if she was actively avoiding me. Judging from her initial reaction to me, she was probably treating me a lot like she would Cole…

“Lady Tamsyn!”

Maxwell. He bore a friendly grin as he approached, Blackwall and Iron Bull following behind. “May I present Warden-Constable Blackwall and The Iron Bull? Fresh joiners to the cause.”

I grinned as I looked between the two men. Blackwall was slightly shorter than Maxwell, but Iron Bull towered over the Herald. I felt miniscule next to the giant qunari. “A pleasure,” I said, giving them both a small bow, my weapons clinking with the movement. I recalled Vivienne and Josephine telling me I needed to act with more authority, and so I added, “Advisor Tamsyn Ashworth of the Inquisition, at your service.”

Blackwall seemed to smile a bit at my introduction, “We’ve heard much about you, my lady.”

“That we have,” Bull added with a slight nod of acknowledgment.

“Been saying things about me, I see?” I teased Maxwell.

The Herald chuckled, “Only good things, I promise.”

“Of course,” I pointed to the path ahead, “War table meeting is being called. Cullen’s already on his way there and gathering the others.”

A solemn expression then fell over Maxwell’s countenance like a shadow. “Right. We have to talk about Redcliffe. Gentlemen, if you would, come with us. We’ll have to register you with Josephine to officially add you to the Inquisition’s payroll.”

And then, just like we had done when he had returned from Val Royeaux, we walked to the Chantry together to get down to business at last.

\------------------------------------------------------

“This is…not good.”

Josephine’s quiet words were a bit of an understatement.

Maxwell, after reporting on the stabilization of the Fallow Mire, the establishment of camps on the Storm Coast, and the continued closing of rifts in Ferelden, finished briefing the advisors on what he had witnessed at Redcliffe. Once his account reached Alexius, Felix, Dorian, and the Venatori, the room filled with palpable tension.

“This invitation, Herald,” Cullen began, his knuckles prominent through his gloves as he gripped his sword’s pommel, “This is a trap. It can be nothing else. And if you are captured in that castle, then there will be nothing we can do to get you out. Redcliffe Castle is famous for its impregnability.”

“That is not entirely true, Commander,” Leliana replied knowingly. “There is a secret escape route for the family, accessible via the old mill on the edge of town. Using it to get to the castle is how the undead ravaging the village were stopped during the Blight. Those tunnels are likely still open, and if we can access them, we can lay a trap of our own.”

Maxwell’s brows rose, “That sounds like a viable option.”

“ _If_ it goes according to plan,” Cullen replied, his skepticism evident on his face. “We _are_ dealing with Tevinter, here, and with mages who have somehow found a way to distort time. Who knows what other defenses they have put in place in addition to the castle’s already formidable fortifications? I say we leave this for when we are better prepared and pursue the Templars. At least they-”

“ _Forget_ the Templars,” Leliana interrupted, her tone firm a she shook her head. “That these Tevinter mages have indeed warped time itself and secured themselves in Redcliffe enough to oust the Arl from his own castle and enslave the rebel mages…”

“…and also come far enough into Fereldan lands that the Avvar tribesmen mistook _our_ soldiers for Tevinter operatives…” Josephine added pointedly.

“…then this is a threat we cannot ignore,” Cassandra finished, arms crossed atop her breastplate. “We cannot abide yet another magical anomaly endangering the world. Whatever the Lord Seeker is doing with his pet thugs, wherever he’s doing it, likely pales in comparison to this.”

 _Oh, how wrong you are_ , I thought.

“We don’t know that,” Cullen answered tersely, unceremoniously dropping Barris’s letter onto the war table. Turning to Maxwell, he explained, “While you were gone, a Knight-Recruit contacted us. The Templars are at the Seeker Fortress of Therinfal Redoubt, in the mountains on the eastern side of Ferelden. The recruit’s name is Ser Barris, and he has approached us, asking us to persuade the officers amongst the Templars to see reason and make the Breach a priority, as they refuse to listen to him.” Cullen glanced to me, “Tamsyn said she would elaborate on the situation unfolding at the fortress once you returned. So,” he gestured in my direction, “perhaps we should hear what she has to say before we make our final decision on the matter.”

All eyes now fell on me, and I felt my gut twist a little. Nodding, though, I cleared my throat and thought carefully about what I should mention before I began.

“The Venatori presence in Redcliffe is, of course, a significant threat,” I agreed, glancing between Cassandra and Leliana. “But don’t discount the situation with the Templars either. Just because you don’t know much about their doings at this point, doesn’t mean they’re less of a threat than the Tevinters.” I took a deep breath, “Despite this not being part of the story I’ve been privy to, I’m about to let you know just what is happening at Therinfal, so you can better make your choice. If you had decided to pursue the Templars anyway, this information would come as a complete surprise, and you wouldn’t get a chance to deliberate on it like you are now regarding Redcliffe.”

There were butterflies in my stomach, now. Swallowing hard, I looked at Cullen, and I found it difficult to meet his eyes. “You remember what happened to Knight-Commander Meredith, right?”

“All too well,” he replied, brow lifted. “Why do you ask? Is she related to this in some way?”

“Well,” I laughed a little, more from anxiousness than humor. “Let’s just say that the officers amongst the rebel Templars have been hard at work creating more like her. You know there were Templars who envied her level of power. And they still do.”

At that, Cullen’s head twisted around at me, his amber gaze fixed on mine. His mouth was pulled into a frown, his brow heavily furrowed, and the corners of his eyes squinted together as they had when we had played chess that time, when I had told him his withdrawals would get better. A cord in his neck twitched, I could see his jaw clench, and I knew _he_ knew what I was getting at. But that didn’t stop him from starting in a deadly tone, “Tamsyn...are you telling me…”

“Red lyrium,” I said simply, deciding to cut straight to the chase. “The officers in the rebel Templars’ ranks are _drinking_ red lyrium. And if they aren’t stopped soon, then Ser Barris and his loyalists are next. Persuasion first, and if that fails, then force-feeding. If they put up a fight, they’ll be killed.” Glancing to Maxwell and then back to the Commander, I finished, “Bottom line: if the Templars aren’t chosen, then they’re all destined to become the same type of abominations Meredith turned into, only worse.”

“Maker _damn it all!_ ” Cullen hissed, a hand first rubbing the back of his neck forcefully, then curling into a fist at his hair as he jammed his eyes shut in frustration. Crimson flushed his neck, revealing his barely-bottled fury to all present. Leliana seemed to subconsciously lean away from him, though her face remained expressionless.

“That…that isn’t good either,” Maxwell’s eyes were slightly wide, and he shook his head slowly as he absorbed the information.

“So is _that_ what the Lord Seeker intended?” Cassandra interposed, her tone one of both disbelief and outrage, “To take them away and force them to become…what? His personal army empowered by something we barely understand?”

“That’s just the thing,” I continued, throwing my hands upwards. “What’s at Therinfal Redoubt isn’t the Lord Seeker. It’s an Envy Demon wearing Lucius Corin’s face. _It’s_ the one making the red lyrium army. And none of the Templars there are even aware of it. Not even the officers. They think they’re still working for Lucius. In the name of a higher power.” I couldn’t tell her that the real Lord Seeker was still out there, collecting the other Seekers for his own apocalyptic goals.

At that, Cullen looked ready to explode. Disgust, rage, and anguish all contorted his features in a vicious snarl, and his amber eyes were alight with his fury. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out, and so he spun on his heel, facing the wall while running a hand down his face. Josephine and Leliana both exchanged looks of concern while Cullen’s back was turned, and even Cassandra seemed a bit worried. I knew he was angry. Mostly at the choice that had to be made and the folly of the Order he once loved so much. But I knew he was also angry at me. I could feel it. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Turning to Maxwell and trying to push those thoughts away, I continued, “Remember when I said that this choice between the mages and the Templars as your allies to close the Breach would save one side and leave the other to its fate? That one side or the other would be destroyed? Now is the time for your choice.” I pointed at the war table marker for Redcliffe, “Either save the rebel mages from their Tevinter masters and leave almost all the remaining Templars in southern Thedas to become a red lyrium legion,” I then pointed to the marker that denoted Therinfal Redoubt, “or rescue the Templars and leave the rebel mages to remain slaves of the Venatori and their machinations.”

As Cullen moved back towards the table, face now stony, Maxwell looked completely at a loss for words, his olivine eyes wide and his mouth agape. He quickly corrected himself, however, closing his mouth and swallowing heavily before shaking his head at me. “I…but…I thought this choice was clear before, but now…” His eyes flicked between all of us, as if searching for help. “I can’t make that kind of decision! That’s…this is too much to ask!”

“But you _must_ ,” I said firmly, “It’s your life on the line in both situations, and _you_ have to be the one to either meet the Templars at Therinfal, facing this demon head-on to save them, or accept the invitation from Alexius to rescue the mages. Only _you_ can do these things. No one else can.”

He hissed his frustration, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Why? Why me?”

“Because you’re the Herald of Andraste,” Josephine reminded him gently.

“The Ambassador’s right,” I said, “That’s _precisely_ the reason. Alexius will only negotiate with you for the rebel mages, because you’re the _Herald_. And only you can stop the Envy demon at Therinfal from mutating or destroying all the Templars there, because the demon will only respond to the _Herald_. You have to pick one side to deal with the Breach, and be willing to accept what happens to the other side after you make that choice.”

“Mages joining with the Venatori doing Maker-knows-what with fucking time magic, or a legion of red lyrium-swilling warriors following a fucking demon masquerading as the Lord Seeker…which catastrophe do I decide for us to deal with later?” His tone was dark and bitter and mirthless.

“The obvious choice is to pursue the mages,” said Leliana, “If the Templars are so weak that they cannot detect when a demon is playing them, then perhaps they are more of a liability than an asset.”

“The same could be said of the rebel mages who allowed themselves to be enslaved by a Tevinter magister promising safety,” Cassandra quipped.

“You also severely underestimate the power of demons,” Cullen snapped, hand flexing atop his sword. “And an Envy demon is no common foe.”

“ _Both_ situations are dire, but it is apparent that regardless of how we feel about either side, we _must_ come to a decision, and soon,” Josephine interjected, raising her voice in an attempt to put a stop to the argument before it escalated further. I knew it was of no use, however. Tempers were flaring and blood was boiling, just as I expected it would.

“I say the biggest threat is having a red lyrium army to deal with after the Breach is sealed,” Cullen said firmly, one finger hitting the war table sharply as he emphasized his words. “One of Meredith was bad enough, but potentially hundreds? We do not have the manpower to stand against that. Not even with King Alistair’s forces aiding us.”

 _King Alistair._ It was the first time I had heard about the Fereldan monarch in this worldstate, and I filed that information away for reference as I continued listening to the debate.

“And a legion of Tevinter-led mages armed with time altering magic and fueled by desperation would be a better crisis to face, Commander?” Leliana replied, brow cocked at Cullen.

“That’s _not_ what I meant!”

“ _Enough!_ ” Cassandra barked, slamming her gauntleted fist on the table. The harsh crack of metal on wood sent everyone jumping out of their skin, including me, my heart pounding in my ears.

A heavy silence filled the air after that. Six pairs of eyes glanced first to one person, then another, glittering in the light as they flicked around the room. Cullen’s breastplate shimmered as he took a deep and steadying breath and let it out slowly. Leliana’s lips were thin, and her gaze was fixed on the war table, though on which piece, exactly, I wasn’t sure. The candle flame on Josephine’s tablet flickered as she let out a sigh through her nose, shaking her head and focusing on the parchment clipped to the board.

Maxwell then bent forward, leaning with both hands on the war table for support and hanging his head. In that moment, he seemed so overburdened…overwhelmed with the weight he was carrying. I felt incredibly sorry for him, even though I was simultaneously glad I wasn’t the one in his shoes.

“There has to be another way,” he said without looking up.

“Except for the fact that if it indeed must be you and only you to handle either the mages or the Templars personally, then you cannot be in two places at once,” Josephine added. “Hence why you must choose.”

“So I’ve heard,” the Herald remarked dryly, still unmoving.

More silence.

After a moment, I let out a long sigh of my own. This was it – the time to propose my plan for the Templars. It was now or never.

“There may be something we can do,” I said at length, which caused all eyes to instantly latch onto me, and I found it difficult to meet them, so intense were their gazes at that point. “Even if it isn’t in the story as I know it. If you’re comfortable not being aware of the ramifications of following the story I know to the letter and facing the possibility I may not be able to help you…”

“With all due respect,” Cullen interrupted curtly, “ _Hang_ the ‘story.’ If you have a way in mind to save more lives and to make this choice easier, then _tell us_.”

In his eyes I found no gentleness. I didn’t have to look at Leliana or Cassandra to know they felt the same way as he did. I swallowed heavily and took a deep breath.

“So…here’s my idea,” I began, turning to Maxwell – the other trapped person in the room. “If you want to go to Redcliffe, go to Redcliffe, since it’s closer. Meet with Alexius at the castle with Dorian and let Sister Nightingale and the Commander provide reinforcements through the secret passage. But before you leave Haven, send a letter to Ser Barris. Tell him to get his loyalist friends – everyone he can trust – out of Therinfal, if he can. Tell him whatever you have to in order to convince him to abandon ship, but _without_ causing him to confront the fake Lord Seeker.” I glanced to Cassandra. “That’s a fight they can’t win. Not right now. If they are able, they need to make a run for it. And they can come here for safe Haven. Uh…” I laughed nervously, pulling my hands behind my back, “pardon the pun.”

At that, Maxwell finally straightened in full, brows lifted as he looked to the others, “Well…that’s better than doing nothing at all, I think.”

“Indeed,” Josephine nodded her agreement, a reassuring smile on her face. “It may not save all the Templars, but it has the potential to save many.”

Cullen shifted his weight, his scabbard clinking as he heaved a heavy sigh. “It’s not the ideal solution, but it is, as you say, better than nothing. Considering the circumstances, with both time and distance being an issue, I’d say it is the best plan we have. Andraste, preserve us.”

“Leliana, how quickly can you get a letter to Barris?” Cassandra inquired.

“My swiftest raven will have it to him in two days’ time,” the Nightingale replied, no doubt in her voice.

Maxwell reached for Ser Barris’s correspondence where it lay on the table. “I will personally pen the letter and have it ready for you by evening.”

She inclined her head to him, “I will have it sent the moment you bring it.”

“In the meantime,” Cullen added, “We should prepare for an infiltration of Redcliffe Castle. Sister Leliana, if you would meet me later after evening services to plan our movements?”

“Of course, Commander.”

“Good,” Cassandra said, visibly satisfied now that a solution had been found. “Now that we finally have a strategy, let us get to work. We have little time to waste.”

And at that, the meeting was adjourned at last. I was thankful; the whole situation had me on edge, and I felt myself trembling a little from anxiety. Eager to escape the war room and its almost oppressive atmosphere, I followed the Herald and Cassandra for the door, but before I could leave, Cullen suddenly called out to me.

“Tamsyn, before you go, I would like to speak with you for a moment, if you can spare the time.”

_Uh oh…_

“Of course, Commander,” I replied, my stomach doing a nervous flop as I turned back to face him with a small, friendly smile. Josephine politely brushed past me, as did Leliana, and the door groaned and clanked shut behind them, leaving the two of us alone in the war room together. Again.

In the heavy silence that followed, I pulled my hands behind my back again to hide my fidgeting, resisting the overwhelming urge to anxiously smooth my hair under my cap and straighten any crooked clothing. Fortunately, Cullen seemed calmer than he had been upon first hearing about the Templars’ dire situation, but I was still afraid of what he might say. I knew from the way he looked down at the table instead of at me, the shadows deepening on his face and sharpening his features, that he was still upset at me. No doubt that was what this was all about.

“You knew about the red lyrium at Therinfal,” he finally said quietly, confirming my suspicions.

His words made my mouth and throat suddenly go dry. “Yes,” I said simply after a desperate swallow to alleviate the parched sensation, my voice cracking a bit.

“You knew last week and said nothing. Why?” That last word was filled with emotion, and I could sense that he felt betrayed.

I took a breath. “Because I needed to wait and make sure Maxwell was going to take the path of the rebel mages instead of the Templars. If he took the Templars’ path anyway, then there wouldn’t be any need for-”

“But you still could have informed us _sooner_!” he retorted, his voice very nearly a growl. “We could have let Barris know he needed to flee Therinfal a week ago! He and his comrades could have already been on their way here, and then there would be no need for the Herald to risk his life at Redcliffe!”

“And then it would-”

“Alter the story too much, yes, we’ve all heard that argument before,” Cullen interrupted, his molten-gold eyes flashing dangerously in the torchlight as he half-turned from me, tossing a hand in the air. “Have you thought, perhaps, that the reason you’ve landed here is so that you _can_ alter the story? For the better?”

For a moment, I couldn’t say anything. He had a good point. But he still didn’t understand…

“If I alter the story to the point that I don’t know the future, then I have no way of knowing if the outcome really _will_ be better at all. It could be a total disaster,” I finally managed to say, the words wavering a little as they tumbled from my lips. “That doesn’t benefit anyone.”

His eyes narrowed at me as he suddenly bent over the table towards me, one hand on Orlais and the other on Ferelden, the crossguard of his sword smacking the wood with the abrupt movement. He looked like a cat poised to pounce. “You’re telling me that having the opportunity to save lives that would otherwise be lost and taking that chance isn’t a better course of action than letting them die because that’s the way the ‘story’ goes?”

There was something about that posture of his that irked me. I could feel my hackles rising, my fists clenching. I wasn’t going to be backed into a corner. I wasn’t going to be a frightened deer. No. I could be just as much of a lion as he. I was an advisor to the Inquisition, too, just like he was. Just like Leliana and Josephine.

And just like them, I wasn’t going to back down from what I thought was the appropriate course of action.

I closed the distance between myself and the table and mimicked his stance, planting my hands on the maps, the arrows in my quiver rattling on my back. I leaned towards him, too, eyes refusing to leave his. And when I finally spoke again, my voice was barely more than a low hiss.

“Look, I don’t like this limitation any more than you do, Commander, but at least you’re not the one who has to live with keeping it all to themselves every day. Who wonders every single night before you fall asleep if your simple _presence_ is going to make someone you care about die some untold amount of time down the road!” I smacked the palm of my hand on the table. “Damn it! When _one_ simple event outside the normal bounds of the narrative might make matters ten times worse than they already are, and then you have to live with ruining _everything_ forever!”

 _Someone you care about_. Oh, dear…did I really let that slip out? I hoped he hadn’t fixated on that phrase, but something about the way his eyes flicked this way and that and the way his furrowed brow twitched as he looked at me suggested he was thinking about _something_ I had just said…

I stopped briefly, then, and despite my own anger at this confrontation, I was suddenly aware of our _very_ close proximity. Both our hands were mere inches apart, and my face was near enough to his I could swear I felt the heat radiating off of him. That very sensation threatened to stifle the newfound courage that had bubbled up inside…

Trying desperately to keep my momentum going, I barreled onwards before he could interrupt me again. “No, I don’t like the idea of people dying for the sake of the story. It’s callous. It’s terrible. It is. But there are _going_ to be tragedies, Commander. There are going to be things that none of us can prevent. No matter how hard we try, and no matter how much we’re aware of.” My thoughts immediately strayed to Corypheus’s impending assault, and I was tempted to just go ahead and broach the topic now, while we were already at loggerheads, but something stopped me. “It’s a hard truth to swallow, I know. But we’re going to have it poured down our throats whether we like it or not.”

Silence hung between us, then. I watched as his expression slowly melted into something unreadable, and his eyes drifted from mine back down to the maps. He stood as Maxwell had, head bowed for several moments, before finally pushing back from the table, returning his hands to the pommel of his sword. He said nothing at all, seemingly steeped in deep thoughts, though I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Was he swallowing back emotion, a response, or both?

I straightened, too, then, my voice a little softer as I continued, “Commander, please…I need you to promise me that whatever happens and whatever comes our way, you will trust me to know what I’m doing.” His eyes met mine again at that, shining somewhat more intensely in the torchlight. “That you will trust Maxwell and me to get us through all the trials that lie ahead. I told you I wanted to the best outcome possible for everyone in the Inquisition, and that hasn’t changed. That is my only purpose here, and there is nothing else that I want. You _have_ to trust me to do that.”

I was practically begging at this point, pleading with him to believe me. He seemed to sense this, as his shoulders suddenly relaxed, his pauldrons shimmering a bit with the movement. He put his head in one hand, rubbing at his temples with his thumb and forefinger and sighing a long, heavy sigh. “All right, Tamsyn. All right. I will…try.”

He was tired. That much was plain. Tired and frustrated. I needed to leave him in peace. And so, I made for the door once more, turning back only to add, “Besides, if you believe Maxwell and I were sent by the Maker, then you must also believe that the Maker gave us the wisdom to know what to do and when.”

And with that, I left the war room and Cullen behind, striding through the empty Chantry with my own words still ringing in my ears.

I felt as though I were walking a tightrope. One slip, and it was all over.

\------------------------------------------------------

That evening, as I headed to the Singing Maiden for dinner, I was struck with pre-cycle cramps again and, along with them, the fact that I had been in Thedas over a month. More like a month and a half. It certainly didn’t feel like it. Even though I had adjusted well enough to life in this new world, I still felt terribly unprepared for a real crisis. Especially for the one that was to come very, very soon. That bothered me greatly. Because if I felt that uneasy about something I _knew_ was going to happen, then how would I feel about a true surprise? Even worse than Butler’s attack? Could I handle that kind of curveball?

As I thought about the argument I had with Cullen earlier that day, I suddenly realized that I was honestly _afraid_ of any surprises. As much as I wanted to keep the story on track for their sakes, I had to admit to myself that I also wanted to keep the story on track for _mine_. I didn’t want to even attempt to deal with anything I didn’t know was coming, because I knew there was a great possibility I would be clueless as to what to do in such a situation. I’d be totally useless, not just to them, but to _myself_ …

Was that selfish of me?

I shook my head, clearing these thoughts from my mind as I entered the tavern. It was decidedly emptier than I expected, but once I caught sight of Iron Bull by the fire with a tankard in hand, I thought I knew why. The Chargers sat at most of the occupied tables, laughing and carousing as they were wont to do. Krem, I noted, was standing on a chair as he narrated what must have been an enrapturing story, judging from the faces of his listeners. Opposite them, in the far corner, were Varric and Sera, playing cards, a pile of coins between them. The latter rogue glanced up at seeing me enter, but then suddenly put a hand to her forehead, as if to block her view of me. I frowned, wondering what her problem was, before I remembered she probably thought I was like some sort of demon; I was a creepy thing that wasn’t supposed to exist.

Ah well, she wasn’t far off the mark.

Remembering Maxwell’s story about his sister, I made sure to request an extra ale when I ordered my food – more ram stew with a chunk of fresh bread. Then, as soon as I turned around with my meal in hand, I saw Bull wave me over to his table.

“Why don’t you join me there, Tamsyn?” he said, gesturing at the seat opposite him. “I’d like to get to know you a bit better, if that’s all right with you.”

Shrugging, I made my way over to his table and plopped down, scooting the chair up closer. “Sure, I don’t mind. What do you want to know?”

“Well, one question, really. It’s been bothering me ever since your Herald told us about you.” He set his tankard aside and propped both elbows on the table’s surface.

“Fire away,” I said, taking a drink.

“You _did_ make all that crap up about knowing the future and reading about us from some book and being from another world just so you could save your own ass, right?”

Despite my rather sour mood, his words very nearly made me spit my ale. I clamped my hand over my mouth as I half-choked, spluttering before I managed to swallow, and then outright laughed aloud, my face burning. He half-smirked as I recovered, but the look in his one eye told me he was actually serious about the question. Holding up a hand in apology, I replied, “Sorry, sorry. That was just delivered so humorously. Okay, you’re right about me saving my own ass. But I _was_ telling the truth, too. Really.”

“ _Hnngh_ ,” he growled, pushing back in his chair and crossing his arms. “First magic holes in the sky and now future-telling people from other worlds…” He glanced away, staring at the wall for a long while in total silence. Then, he finally shook his horned head and glanced down at me, adding quietly, “So…that means you know about my other bosses, right?”

I had just taken a bite of bread, so I covered my mouth politely as I answered, “Yes, I do. Say no more.”

“Well, I have a feeling I should keep quiet about you. If they were to know about _you_ on top of everything else, they might just decide to go ahead and launch a full-scale invasion to save the world from all this unexplainable magical Fade bullshit.”

I swallowed, the Dragon’s Breath operation swimming to the forefront of my thoughts. “Yeah it would, uh…be best if they didn’t.”

“Yeah…thought so.”

At that moment, a shadow neared our table, and I glanced up to see Blackwall approaching with a tankard and bowl in hand. “Mind if I join you two?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Bull replied. My mouth was full of stew at that point, so I merely nodded.

Blackwall seated himself beside Bull, groaning a bit as he eased himself down. “Cold does nothing good for the joints, eh?”

“Yeah, whatever you say, old man,” Bull teased.

“You’re no spring chicken, there, qunari,” Blackwall quipped.

At that moment, there was a roar of cheers. Glancing in the direction of the sound, I saw Maxwell enter the tavern, plucking his gloves from his hands. I thought he might grab a bite to eat himself, but instead, he headed directly to our table, dragging up another chair and sitting at the end. We all nodded to him respectfully in greeting as he sat, the scent of leather and pine accompanying his arrival.

“Tamsyn, I just had Leliana send off Barris’s letter,” he said, slightly breathless from the cold. “It should reach him soon. Let’s hope he can actually heed its words and flee Therinfal.”

“Let’s hope,” I echoed, staring down into my stew.

“We’re also leaving for Redcliffe the day after tomorrow,” the Herald continued, turning to Blackwall and Bull, “Cassandra has already expressed an interest in going, and I’m thinking of enlisting Varric and Solas as well. I thought perhaps you two could use a chance to grow familiar with Haven and rest after your travels.”

“That’s appreciated, Herald,” Blackwall said with a nod.

“You got a plan to get into that castle with some backup?” Bull asked.

Maxwell shifted in his seat, “Cullen and Leliana are working on that as we speak.” At that, he glanced back to me, “Any words of advice, Tamsyn?”

I pushed back my bowl and sighed, meeting his inquisitive gaze. “The most important thing you can do is listen to Dorian Pavus. He knows what he’s doing, and he’s a good man.” I paused, thinking about how I could word the dark red future I knew he was going to see. Then, leaning closer, I continued quietly, “You’re going to see some terrible things. It’s going to look bad…really bad. It’s going to eat at you, and you’re going to feel desperate. You’re going to feel like all is lost. But you can’t give up. The world really does depend on you, Herald. You have to succeed. And in order to do that,” I leaned back in my chair, “you _must_ listen to Dorian Pavus. Trust him as you would any of us.”

His eyes searched mine as he tried to understand what I was saying, what I might be hinting at. Out of the corner of my own eye, I could see Bull and Blackwall exchanging looks. Perhaps of concern, but I couldn’t tell. Then, finally, Maxwell nodded in acceptance. “All right. I’ll be sure to do that, then.” With a sigh, he stood and put his chair back where he found it. “I’m going to go ask Varric if he wants to join us, and then I’m going back to my cabin. I need to catch up on rest if I’m going to be back into the field so soon. A good night to you all.”

“Good night, Herald.”

“Thank you, Herald.”

And with that, Maxwell left the three of us in somewhat uncomfortable silence.

\------------------------------------------------------

After the Herald had left our table, I exchanged proper pleasantries with Blackwall (during which, thankfully, he didn’t pry for how much information I knew about him). Not long after that, though, I, too, excused myself and left for my cabin, having finished my meal and both drinks. The day was quickly catching up to me, and that on top of my mood left me with little desire for anything other than my usual dreamless sleep.

I lay awake for some time, though, thinking about the war table meeting and how upset Cullen had been with me. He had every right to be, and I felt crushing guilt enveloping me. I had told him to trust me to know what I was doing. But honestly, I wasn’t sure if I trusted myself…

I thought about how long it had been since Cullen had given me the date. If my calculations were correct, it should have been around the fourteenth of Harvestmere by now. I nodded to myself; that sounded about right, judging from what future Fiona would say in Redcliffe once Maxwell was thrown into the midst of _In Hushed Whispers_. Only two more weeks left in the month. And if everything went according to plan, then Corypheus would arrive by that time.

It was too soon. All too soon. Time flew by far too quickly. And all I could do was buckle up, hang on for dear life, and hope for the best.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am very sorry this update took so long to write! This chapter was particularly difficult for some reason. I hope it turns out to be worth the wait!
> 
> Also, because this is the last post before 2018 arrives, I want to take this opportunity to wish all of my readers a bright and Happy New Year! Thank you all so much! <3

Considering how upset everyone had been at the war table meeting, I figured it was best to hide in my cabin for the entirety of the following day, save for meals, even though doing so meant I had to send lame excuses to Delia and Strider to get out of my training sessions. Luckily, I saw no one of import during those brief outings to the Singing Maiden, and so I was able to put the argument I had with Cullen farther behind me.

Sort of.

Despite burying myself in the Chant and practicing runes (Josephine had given me my own quill, inkwell, and stash of parchment at one of our last evening teas), that quarrel still haunted me, just in a different way. Now I was afraid I had truly jeopardized our friendship. Or whatever it was we had right now. It was more than acquaintanceship, for sure, but only just. It didn’t seem strong enough to call _actual_ friendship. But camaraderie, maybe? Mutual respect at least? It was such a delicate thing, it was difficult to name.

And now, I feared that little thing had been shattered.

Even though I was something of a Cullenite (though the term seemed almost unfitting considering the current circumstances), and that fact likely wouldn’t change anytime soon, I wasn’t fool enough to think that Cullen and I had a chance of being anything more than friends. It was just the way it was. Someone with his sense of protectiveness and devotion to doing the right thing would never completely trust someone who insisted on keeping secrets about events that would harm people in the future, no matter the reason. I had asked him to trust me, but I knew he probably wouldn’t. Maybe eventually grudgingly accept what I felt I had to do, but never trust me. Hell, if I were in his shoes, _I_ wouldn’t be able to trust me. But before our little argument at the war table, I had just the tiniest hope we could at least walk away from this whole experience on friendly terms.

Now, I wasn’t sure that was possible anymore.

It was sad, really. It hurt. And this sorrow and pain was a dead weight on my shoulders as I brushed my teeth the morning of the Herald’s departure. The powder from the supplies Harding had given me I mixed with water into makeshift toothpaste, and it worked well enough, even if it did taste horrid. The only other downside was that I had to use my finger as a brush, and it was more than a tiny bit abrasive. Still, there was something therapeutic about it, and I found myself thinking a lot when I brushed my teeth, this morning being no exception.

I was forced out of my thoughts, however, when a loud knock came at my door.

Taking a quick drink from my waterskin to rinse my mouth of the pasty substance, I hastily moved to the door and opened it a crack. “Yes?”

To my mild surprise, Lea stood there, a note in her hands. Smiling broadly, she extended it to me with a small dip of her head. “Message from Sister Nightingale for you, Tamsyn.”

“Oh,” I slowly took the parchment from her, brows raised. What was this about? “Thank you.” Then, suddenly remembering what day it was and what events were planned, I added, “Hey…has the Herald already left for Redcliffe?”

She nodded in affirmation. “At dawn. They seemed to be in an awful hurry.” She briefly glanced back at the Breach before returning her jade gaze to me, cocking her head curiously. “Is it uh…is it true that’s going to be gone for good, soon?”

I gave her my best reassuring smile, “Yes, it will. The Herald will see to it.”

She smiled back widely, “Good. I’m glad, and I can’t wait.” She paused for a moment, and then added determinedly, “ _Then_ the world will see.”

I blinked as she turned and strode away, quickly disappearing into the bustle of activity that swarmed just outside the gates. Her reaction seemed to startle more than just me, because one of the guards cleared his throat rather awkwardly. After a breath or two, though, I smiled to myself and murmured, “Maybe they will,” before retreating back inside. I had a feeling Lea meant that the world would see that the Herald really was sent by the Maker to help them. I had spent enough time at card games with her that I was certain she was Andrastian…perhaps not the most outwardly devout, but Andrastian nonetheless. Having Maxwell’s future success against the Breach confirmed, or even just hinted at, seemed to boost her confidence immensely.

If only I could boost the Herald’s confidence in the same way, with as little words.

I hadn’t spent much time around Maxwell at all, but from what I knew of him thus far, he seemed entirely conflicted about his purpose and his circumstances. On the one hand, he appeared to be a good-hearted man fully willing to do his best to help people – to help the Inquisition succeed. On the other hand, though, he seemed doubtful that he really was Maker-sent, and that this whole “Herald of Andraste” title was a bit overmuch. He was already feeling overburdened, I could tell from the last meeting, and I wondered if he would feel differently about it all after the coming attack…

Shaking my head, I turned my attention to the note from Sister Nightingale, breaking the wax seal and unfolding it to read her usual neat script:

_Tamsyn,_

_I have interrogated Butler. If we are to take his word for it, he acted of his own accord in response to the recent public display between yourself and Chancellor Roderick. Butler is convinced you are a fraud and a threat to the Chantry, with which he has aligned himself in opposition to the Inquisition._

_I am not sure he has acted without sanction, however. We will be investigating the members of the Chantry here in Haven, including Roderick. I will inform you when we know more._

_~ L_

I refolded the note and stood there for several moments, feeling ill at ease. Despite Josephine and Vivienne’s hopes that my reputation as someone with knowledge of the future would be a potential weapon against the Inquisition’s rivals, something to use to their advantage, it seemed all it was doing right now was earning me enemies among our own.

\------------------------------------------------------

“ _Arggghhh!_ ”

I audibly growled my vexation, a cloud of hot vapor leaving my lips as my umpteenth arrow missed its target during practice that morning.

Instead of flinging trash skyward and having me shoot it down, Strider was now throwing things in a sideways arc for me to hit, and for some reason, this simple directional change made all the difference in my performance. Before, I was taking out targets one right after the other – the sound of the arrow leaving the string and striking broken pottery almost hypnotically rhythmic. Now, I was missing every single time again. It was as if I had been put right back to square one, and I was more than a little frustrated at this significant setback. I rubbed my arm furiously as Strider collected my arrows; he had given me a bow with increased draw weight, and I was sore again on top of everything else…

“Keep trying,” he encouraged gently, handing back the projectiles he had gathered from where they had landed into the snowbank ahead of us.

“Maybe if you didn’t throw the things so _bloody damn fast_ ,” I said, snatching the practice arrows from his gloved hand with feigned ire, “It wouldn’t be _quite_ so difficult.”

“Right, because your target’s going to slow down for you just so you can hit it,” he quipped with a smirk.

“Oh, just shut it already and toss!”

I whirled towards the sound of Sera’s voice, eyes wide in surprise. She was standing right beside me, almost as if she’d been there the whole time, her bow in her hand and an arrow knocked.

“Wha-”

“I said _toss_!” Sera repeated, the irritation at being questioned obvious in her voice. I noticed her bow was knocked with real arrows, not practice ones.

Strider held up his hands in surrender, electric eyes wide and brows lifted before he bent and picked up a fallen pottery shard. In the space of a mere second, he flung the fragment forth and it exploded into dust, the arrow leaving Sera’s bow faster than I could register it happening.

“Keep ‘em coming, yeah?” said the elf, her bow already leveled for another shot.

For the next minute, Strider was hurling bits of garbage one right after the other. Anything and everything he pitched was shot down midair, no matter the speed or size. At one point, Sera even threw herself into a sideways roll and fired at a kneeling position. All the while, I watched with my mouth hanging open. I mean, I knew she was good, but _this_ …

When Strider finally ran out of things to throw, he was grinning from ear to ear. “Damn…we could use you as a scout, madam.”

“Name’s _Sera_ ,” she replied shortly as she straightened, returning her bow to its sheath on her back and moving to retrieve her fallen arrows. “ _Madam_ ’s for big people. I’m just people. And no, that’s not what I signed on for.”

Strider shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

“What I always do,” Sera retorted as she quickly plucked the arrows from the snow and dropped them back into her quiver. Then, turning back towards me, she added, “You see now, yeah, Weirdy?”

My brow furrowed. “Uh…no…?”

She rolled her grey eyes at me, then seized my arm and pulled me back and forth in an exaggerated manner, “ _Mooooove_. You’re standin’ like a statue. Target’s moving, you move, or you’ll never get it. _Now_ do you see? Or do I need to get a picture book?”

I glanced back at Strider, and he shrugged again. “She’s got a point, really.”

“‘Course, I do,” Sera scoffed, “I’m not stupid. Unlike some people. And I don’t waste my time saying stupid things.”

I put my hand on my hip, and pressed my lips together as I asked Strider, “So you _were_ planning on telling me about the moving bit at some point, right?”

He sighed and nodded, “Yes, but I thought it was best for you to figure out how to lead-”

“Well, it wasn’t working, was it?” Sera interrupted, pushing past me and continuing on towards the gates. “Time for a new plan or Weirdy here’ll be dead before she learns how to fight proper.”

I stood there watching, a bit wide eyed, as she marched away, wondering what in the world all that had been about. How long had she been watching me practice, and why was she so concerned about my training speed? After a breath or two, Strider broke the relative silence with a chuckle, “Apparently we’re going too slow to suit her.”

I sighed resignedly, “Well, if so, she’s got a point about that, too. We should pick up the pace.”

As Strider drew up beside me, he glanced sideways and squinted, “Are you expecting to be thrown into battle so soon, Lady Tamsyn?”

Unable to meet his striking gaze, I took a breath and glanced down at my toes, wiggling them in my boots.

“Sooner than I’d like, that’s for sure.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Later, at lunch, I found myself sharing a table with Iron Bull again. Many of the tavern’s patrons were giving him a wide berth, and I didn’t want him to have to eat by himself, so I was the one who asked to join him this time.

“Sure,” he agreed, gesturing to the seat opposite him, “So how are things going? Any interesting news to share?”

I shook my head as I sat with my plate of ram roast and potatoes, “Not yet. There probably won’t be anything until the Herald returns.”

“Figures,” Bull replied, stabbing a few potatoes with his fork. “The Herald’s making everything happen. Not that people here aren’t doing that, too,” he gestured generically at the tavern, “But he’s going out there in the wide world, closing rifts, meeting people…the face of the whole thing. Problem is, the Inquisition doesn’t just need a face. It needs a _head_.”

I nodded in understanding as I took a bite of ram. He was right, of course. It just wasn’t the right time for it, yet.

“You advisors _are_ planning that out already, aren’t you?” he asked before shoving his forkful of potatoes in his mouth.

I shook my head no, still chewing. The meat was a little tough. Might have been an old ram this time.

At that, he grunted his disapproval, taking a gulp of ale. “You should. If everything goes as your Herald says it’s probably going to…and the way you apparently _know_ it’s going to…then the logical next step is to find the bastard that put it in the sky to start with, right? You’ve got everything you need for now, sure, but when that time comes, you’re gonna need a leader for direction, and the sooner you get that sorted out, the less scrambling you’ll have to do later.” He tore a chunk of ram meat from the whole with his fork and waggled the laden utensil at me pointedly, “Otherwise, you’ll all just be butting heads like this thing used to.”

I swallowed the meat I’d been chewing and chuckled. “That’s true.” Washing it down with my own drink, I added, “So, do you have any ideas for a leader, since you’re bringing this up? I understand you’re the rather observant type, Iron Bull. Who do _you_ think fits the bill for Inquisitor?”

He smirked. “But if you’re what the Herald tells me you are, you already know who’s going to be the Inquisitor, don’t you?”

I smirked right back at him. “I do. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to hear your thoughts on the subject.”

He leaned backwards in his chair, looking thoughtful for a long moment before answering me. “Most would probably say Cassandra is the likeliest candidate. But from what I’ve seen and heard of her so far, she’s too hot-headed. She the type of person who comes across as impulsive, and then spends too much time contemplating those impulsive acts after the fact. Am I right?” he grinned at me like the Cheshire Cat.

I nodded in affirmation. His observation was pretty much spot on.

“Still got it,” he chuckled to himself, polishing his nails on the strap of his pauldron, which made me smile. “Red might be candidate number two,” he continued, “but I think she’d turn people away, not attract people to the cause. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that she doesn’t have the intelligence and reach…she’d have to have that in order to be your spymaster. She just doesn’t have the _charisma_. Although, something tells me she’s going through a rough time emotionally, and that might be affecting the outward persona she’s projecting to everybody else.”

I took another sip of ale, “Yeah. You probably already know this, but she is grieving for the Divine pretty hard. She took Justinia’s death rather personally.”

He nodded slowly in understanding. “Not the kind of someone you want spearheading the movement to find the Divine’s killer, then.”

“Precisely,” I agreed, taking a bite of roasted potatoes.

“So then you have Cullen,” he continued, leaning forward a bit and propping his elbows on the table. “I’ve watched him drilling with the troops…the man’s got skill. He’s also got leadership ability on his side. You can tell he has the hearts of his men already, and that’s half the battle.” He sighed, “Unfortunately, he’s limited to that arena. He’s got the demeanor of someone who doesn’t like wasting time with people other than his soldiers – I’ve already seen him go the long way around the village just to avoid a gaggle of Orlesian ladies. He’s comfortable giving and receiving orders, and that’s about it. Not exactly Inquisitor material.”

“Keep going,” I said, nodding as I continued to eat.

“You,” he began, “seem like someone already in over her head. You’ve got the burden of knowledge, and that’s more than enough to bear at the moment. You’re happy to stay here behind walls and troops and just help out however you can, hoping whatever you feed everyone is enough to keep them satisfied. You don’t want to be a leader, and certainly not the Inquisitor, even if you do know how things are going to go. Am I right?”

I was very nearly stunned at the accuracy of his assessment.

“You are, yes,” I said simply, taking another sip of ale to hide the brief flush in my cheeks.

“Of course I am,” he chuckled. “So that leaves the Herald. Like I said, he’s been the one out in the field, talking to the people, saving people, closing the rifts and fighting the demons no one else can go up against. He’s been carrying the message of the Inquisition not by pen and parchment but by _presence_. And he’s also been recruiting, not just soldiers and scouts and whatnot, but _groups_. Factions. He’s got Viv and her enchanters, Sera and her Jennies, me and the Chargers. Even though he doesn’t necessarily have the Wardens, he has _one_ of them, and that alone carries some weight around here, especially after the Blight. And now he’s going after the rebel mages. Yeah, you all agree to it, but _he’s_ the one out there with the final say. Because he’s already the Herald.”

“He seems more than a little troubled by all of it, though,” I remarked. “I’m not sure how he likes the responsibility that’s been foisted off on him already.”

“Of course he doesn’t like it,” Bull replied, “But the key thing is – he does it anyhow. Like I told him yesterday…the leaders among the qunari we pick because they can make tough decisions. That’s something that Maxwell has already been doing. In a way, you’ve encouraged him, maybe without even knowing you’re doing it. By laying out options on the table and having him choose because he’s the one sticking his neck out all the time, he’s been the one directing this whole thing all along. Even if, inside, he’s screaming. He does it anyhow.”

“So,” he concluded, picking up his fork again and digging at the lump of roast on his plate, “If anyone’s going to be your Inquisitor, I’d be willing to bet money it’s going to be the Herald of Andraste.”

I nodded slowly as I absorbed his words, and I offered him nothing more than a small smile in response.

\------------------------------------------------------

That afternoon, after my sparring session, Delia, Rylen, and I found ourselves watching a particularly intense training session among some of the other troops. Ever since the attack, Delia had begun incorporating martial arts into our routine, including escape maneuvers. I was sore all over, now, particularly my hands, and I flexed my fingers to ease the dull ache in my knuckles.

The three of us stood together on the edge of the grounds, the two officers chatting idly while I looked on in silence. Just because I wasn’t engaged in their discussion didn’t mean I wasn’t listening, though, and I found their attempts at small talk rather cute. Judging from how many times I had caught Delia sparing a glance at Rylen on the practice field during our sparring sessions, I was fairly certain she had something of a crush on him. Rylen, too, seemed a bit less assertive around her, just the slightest hint of shyness in his responses to her questions.

_Yep, I ship it._

The urge to turn towards them and smush the two together, then, was almost overwhelming.

But squashing that urge was the splendid sight before us…

Autumn was quickly transitioning into early winter – it was cold enough out to see your breath in distinct clouds of white vapor, the air was so frigid that breathing too quickly would set your lungs on fire, the water troughs at the smithy had to have the ice broken out of them every single morning now, despite being adjacent to the undying coals of the forge…and yet Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford of the Inquisition was training with his troops entirely shirtless. He had stripped every article of clothing and every bit of armor from his upper half and was left only in his breeches and boots. He didn’t even wear his gauntlets to aid his grip.

And I, being the woman I was, couldn’t keep my eyes off of him.

As expected due to his current lifestyle and choice of career (and as I suspected ever since watching him entirely too closely the last time), he was quite physically fit, with a well-muscled chest, back, shoulders, and arms that would have most viewers either seething with jealousy or swooning with delight. He did not, however, look like some professional bodybuilder or wrestling champion, a fact for which I silently thanked the powers-that-be – God, the Maker, or whoever had blessed him with his marvelous build. No, he had the body typical of a soldier. And it was this body, with both its hardened planes and softer dips and valleys, that had my gaze trailing from his collarbones down to his lovely natural four-pack…

I wasn’t the only one staring, either. Those troops who weren’t being put to the test at the moment had a great number among them with their eyes glued to the Commander, too…and not for the purpose of learning technique, judging from how many gloved hands were hovering in front of mouths as their owners chattered away in groups.

He was trying to get some of the more raw recruits to see a particular feint-slash-block combination, taking each of them one-on-one in order to demonstrate, but it required a bit more coordination than some of the poor newbies had at the moment. I thought one young man in particular was going to have a nervous breakdown when he kept dropping his weapon after the Commander batted it away with ease. Cullen himself was looking increasingly irritated by the minute, his normally almost infinite patience with his troops obviously wearing a bit thin today. Even though he didn’t seem to be that tired from his own repeated maneuvers, he still appeared to be breathing rather heavily, and his skin was somewhat pale. Predictably, he ultimately dismissed the recruits and turned to stow his practice sword and targe at one of the large oaken barrels on the edge of the field, running one hand through his damp locks as he went.

Unthinking as I was, I figured these were just the symptoms of a long, hard day’s work for him, particularly if he hadn’t slept well. Had I been paying attention, though, I would have taken these things as the clear warning signs they were…

Suddenly, Rylen’s wolf-whistle pierced my thoughts like an arrow. Whirling around in surprise, I was met with his sly grin and a wink, the subtle wrinkles at the corner one grey-blue eye crinkling briefly. Beside him, Delia was fighting to keep from smiling at me, her arms crossed atop her chest and her lips pressed together to stifle her laugh.

“What?” I asked, but immediately regretted doing so.

“Ohoho!” Rylen chortled gleefully, sparing a glance to the Corporal, “‘ _What_ ,’ she asks so innocently…as if we haven’t noticed her outright ogling the Commander there for the past five minutes.”

“I wasn’t ‘ _ogling_ ,’” I retorted, mustering my best offended tone in a desperate attempt to be convincing.

Even though I totally _was_ ogling him.

“Sure you weren’t, milady,” Delia teased with an eyeroll, giving the Knight-Captain a knowing look.

I could feel myself turning red even as I opened my mouth to utter another denial. But before I could speak, Rylen continued with a shake of his head.

“Wasn’t the only one, if she was. There’s a few I know I’ll be testing personally tomorrow to see if they really were paying attention, or if they found more value in gawking at their commanding officer than they did watching a lesson that could save their lives.” He then grinned widely, “That’s after I inform Cullen of just how many I saw go all slack-jawed in the ranks when his shirt came off.”

“That’s terrible!” Delia scolded. “You know how he is about that sort of thing…”

“I do,” Rylen chuckled, “and that’s precisely why I’m doing it.”

Although I was inclined to agree with Delia about teasing Cullen regarding his legion of admirers – a legion that was only going to grow – I kept my mouth shut, thankful for the quick diversion from my own inappropriate amount of attention to the Commander’s person. I was even more thankful when a messenger suddenly jogged up to Rylen and motioned to get his attention.

“Ser! The food caravan started from Jader, but their escorts are only going halfway because of pay. They’re requesting a company meet them around Orzammar and bring them the rest of the way here.”

Rylen sighed, “All right…let me see if I can’t round some people up. Corporal?”

“Right ser,” Delia nodded and then turned to me, “Work never ends around here, does it? Tomorrow, then, Tamsyn.”

“See you then, Delia,” I said, watching as the two of them strode for the gates after the courier, probably headed to the tavern to scrounge up volunteers before checking the rosters.

Heaving a sigh of my own, I spared a glance back towards the practice field, and my breath caught in my throat.

Cullen was sitting on a crate by his tent, head bowed forward, hands in his hair. And it didn’t look as if he was just taking a moment to breathe. Something in my gut told me he was ill.

I knew I was probably the last person he wanted to see right now, but I couldn’t just go back to my cabin knowing something was likely wrong with him. Steeling myself, I straightened my clothing and smoothed my hair under my hat – a seemingly habitual thing for me whenever I got agitated – and marched towards him, my hands subconsciously curling into fists. I made sure my footfalls were audible in the dirt as I approached, not wanting to startle him.

He didn’t look up as I neared.

“Commander?”

“Yes?” His response was almost breathless.

More than a little alarmed, now, I cautiously moved closer and knelt in front of him. “Commander, are you-” I started to ask, but then amended the question. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s,” he began, but then shook his head and dropped his hands so he could see me. “It’s nothing…I just…”

But the pallor of his face told me it was anything but nothing. His eyes were dulled and wandering, apparently unable to focus on me for very long.

“Come on,” I said suddenly, standing and gesturing to his tent, “let’s get you inside.”

“Tamsyn, this doesn’t concer-”

“You’re damn right it concerns me,” I quipped, his attempt to brush me off quickly raising my ire. “Now come on. I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

He set his jaw and managed to muster a rather intimidating glare, but with reluctance, he slowly rose to his feet. When he wobbled, I instinctively moved to support him, one arm going around his back, my other hand on his chest, ignoring the physical proximity as best I could. I could feel his heart hammering against his sternum, below my palm, and I could tell even through my gloves and jacket that his skin was feverishly hot. His breath was shaky as we ducked into his tent and I helped him walk to his cot. It was significantly warmer within, and I noted a strange brazier near the entrance – lidded and crafted so that the meshed basket would prevent any stray embers from setting the nearby canvas of the tent on fire.

“Maker, you’re burning up. What happened?” I asked, briefly wondering at how easy the Thedosian invocation came to my lips. “Did you let yourself get sick or…” I trailed, realization dawning as he slipped out of my grasp and onto the bed. “The lyrium. It’s the withdrawals, isn’t it?”

Cullen sank onto the cot like a limp sack of potatoes, hands on either side of him and gripping the edge until his knuckles were white. “I…I don’t know. It all started earlier today. All of a sudden, it was too hot…too cramped…so I took off my armor. But then it wasn’t enough, and…” he trailed, holding his head again and taking a shuddering breath.

Judging from that response, it almost sounded like a combination of things, more than just the withdrawals. His feeling hot and cramped, enough for him to have to remove his armor to alleviate it, made me remember his claustrophobia. Perhaps he was suffering from something PTSD-related in conjunction with the withdrawal symptoms? A panic attack caused by a bad memory? A nightmare from the night before? Had one event triggered the other?

“Do you want me to fetch Adan?”

“No!” he blurted, shaking his head, but then immediately regretting the movement as he reeled. “No, no…it’s…”

“Right, yes, I get it,” I interrupted, a little more harshly than I intended, but I was irritated at his need for secrecy. “No one needs to know but us, I know.” I sighed, trying to think of what I could do to help without alerting the healer. “Do you feel dizzy? Lightheaded? Do you have a headache?”

“Maker, yes,” he groaned, fingers kneading at his scalp. I assumed he meant all of that, then.

I bit my lip. I wasn’t sure elfroot would help, but if it alleviated pain, then maybe it would do something for the headache, at least?

“You need to lie down,” I said, pointing at the head of the cot. “This isn’t going to pass without rest if it hasn’t already.” I wasn’t a doctor, and I hadn’t the slightest idea how to treat lyrium withdrawals, but I _had_ dealt with enough fevers in my life to know what to do about them, at least.

After a moment, he nodded in acquiescence, slowly swinging his legs up onto the cot and stretching out. Turning around, I added over my shoulder, “Stay put, Commander. I’ll be back shortly.” I then headed out of the tent with the intentions of going to my cabin to fetch a tonic from my stores. But one step out, I slammed right into a courier who’d been reaching to open the flap. His clipboard flew out of his hands, and the messenger himself fell flat on his rear on the hard ground. I quickly recovered from my stumble and moved to help him up, pulling him to his feet by his arms, retrieving his clipboard for him, and muttering apologies all the while…

…until I saw his periwinkle eyes nearly aglow under the shadow of his hood.

“Scout Jim?”

He nodded.

Suddenly struck with an idea, I seized his shoulder and implored, “Scout Jim, it’s good you’re here. I am in grave need of your help.”

“Help? From me?” his brows rose impossibly high, his eyes impossibly wide. “Wha-uh…what’s the matter, my lady? What can I do?”

“I need you to run to my cabin and fetch an elfroot tonic and a clean washrag,” I said, gripping his shoulder firmly to keep his attention as his eyes flicked over my shoulder towards Cullen’s tent. “The first will be in the big pack by my bed. The second will be in a stack on one of the tables.”

“Tonic and rag,” he nodded once in affirmation. “Got it! But,” he glanced at the tent again, “is the Commander all right? Is he hurt?”

I shook my head. “He just overworked himself. And that’s what you’re going to tell anyone else who asks about him or wants his attention this evening. Once you get back, I want you to stand guard outside and keep any busybody from disturbing him.” I released my grip, thrust the clipboard at him, and crossed my arms. “He’s simply done too much and he needs rest. Anything that needs to be dealt with can be seen to tomorrow. Send couriers with messages for him to my cabin instead. You can drop off whatever it was you were bringing for him there, too. You understand?”

He nodded again emphatically.

“Good. If anyone gives you any flak about it, tell them Lady Tamsyn ordered it,” I finished, remembering to make a show of my authority. “Now get going!”

“Yes, milady!” he saluted smartly and dashed off, nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled for the gates. All the while, I smiled to myself. He was good for something, at least. I just hoped he didn’t drop the supplies in his haste to obey my orders.

I ducked back into the tent to see Cullen with one arm behind his head, the other draped across his stomach with its hand clenched into a fist. His eyes were squeezed shut, a grimace plastered on his face. I was actually really concerned, now, as the color was almost entirely drained from him. He shivered, and I felt myself automatically going for the blanket at the foot of the cot. His eyes opened once more, then, and when I gave him a questioning look, he nodded, allowing me to drape the blanket over his legs and help him pull it up over half his torso. He still wore his boots, but I figured he didn’t care about that at this point.

“Water?” he rasped, and I glanced around for something to bring him. His waterskin lay on the pile of armor atop the small chest at the foot of his cot, and I snatched it up, uncorking it and proffering it to him. When he struggled to rise enough to drink, I bent to help him, holding the skin to his lips. He drank like a man dying of thirst until he drained the whole thing dry. Only when there was not a single drop left did I take it away, replacing it where I had found it.

“Andraste’s mercy,” he groaned as he eased back down, wringing his hands even as they trembled. “How can I be freezing and on fire at the same time?”

“You’ve a fever, Commander,” I said, “on top of your withdrawals. You’ve probably been pushing yourself too hard lately.” It was then I noticed just how dark the circles around his eyes were, and I squinted in suspicion. “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

“I,” he began, and then shook his head, “No. I…I can’t. I haven’t been…at all.”

I pursed my lips. “How long?”

“Two…two nights in a row.”

“ _Shit!_ You’ve got to-”

Before I could finish, though, the tent flap opened, revealing a red-faced and breathless Jim. “Lady Tamsyn! Your items, as requested!”

I quickly rushed over, snatched the rag and vial from the overeager Scout, and thanked him before physically turning him around and pushing him back out lest he get too much of an eyeful. “Good man, Jim. You know what to do now, yes?”

“Yes, milady! Of course, milady!”

I let the flap fall shut and then secured it closed so no one could enter after that if they tried. I was positive I wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, and I didn’t need anyone intruding even if they somehow managed to convince Jim to go away. Knowing that particular Scout, though, I doubted the Maker himself could budge him. Turning back towards Cullen, I popped the cork from the vial of elfroot tonic and offered to help him with it. “Here. This should do a little something for that headache of yours.”

It took only a second for him to drink it down, and as he plopped heavily back onto the pillow, I set the empty vial aside. Then, moving towards the shallow bucket perched on a barrel by the desk, which served as a makeshift wash basin, I removed my leather gloves and threw them atop Cullen’s desk before wetting the rag in my hands.

“Why are you doing this?”

The question was so faint I barely heard it over the natural roar of Haven. Why indeed? I could have just as easily fetched a healer anyway. Or left him alone as he had asked. No, instead I was here, tending to him like I was a designated caretaker. As I soaked the rag in the cool water, the sloshing and dripping filling my ears, my thoughts wandered to the night he had brought me in out of the cold, gently wiping the frozen tears from my face with a similar rag…

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I said after a moment, squeezing out the cloth somewhat and turning back to him. I took the stool from in front of his provisional desk and dragged it to his bedside before sitting down next to him, leaning forward and pressing the damp rag to his forehead. He hissed in a breath at the contact, and it was only a few seconds before I felt the heat permeating the cloth, as if I’d never even dunked it in the water to start with.

“We’ve got to get this under control,” I said firmly, and that was fact. It didn’t matter how he felt about it, his fever couldn’t go untreated. “Try to relax.”

There was a rigid nod, and I could see he was trying to control his breathing. I removed the cloth and waved it a bit in the air to re-cool the fabric before flipping it and pressing it to his forehead again. That somehow elicited a chuckle from him, and at my quizzical look, he remarked, “I haven’t been treated like this since I was a child with a particularly bad cold.”

I smiled a bit, “I take it you haven’t been ill often?”

“Fortunately,” he said. “This is the first time in years.”

I stood, going back to the basin to wet the rag again. As I did so, I thought about what he had said, about it being two days since he had slept fully. It had also been two days since our meeting…

“Was it me?” I asked as I wrung out the cloth.

“Pardon?”

“Our meeting,” I said, returning to the stool and putting the rag to his forehead once more. “You said you hadn’t slept in two days. Did I cause it?”

His brow furrowed under my hand. “No.”

I dropped my gaze to the mattress. “Are you sure?”

“It wasn’t you, Tamsyn,” he said, more firmly this time and with the slightest hint of annoyance as his amber eyes flicked my way. “Or anything you said.” There was a pause. “You _know_ already why I can’t sleep.”

I huffed out a sigh, pressing the cloth to his temples with my fingertips. I could feel his pulse beating a tattoo under my thumb.

“The nightmares,” I supplied. “You didn’t want to sleep because the nightmares got bad again.”

“They’re _always_ bad,” he corrected. “Just this time, they were _worse_. I couldn’t…”

“You have to try and rest anyway,” I said quietly, flipping the cloth over in my hands. “You can’t go without sleep and then push yourself so hard on the training field and with your paperwork and whatever else. I know you don’t want to experience those terrible visions another night, I know you wanted some relief, but if you don’t try to sleep anyway, you’ll kill yourself.”

I rose to dampen the cloth again, and when I returned, I made as if to move to his neck, but then stopped myself just inches away. “Um…is this okay?” I didn’t want him to feel choked or violated in any way, even though I knew _he_ knew I was just trying to take care of him.

“It’s fine,” he said shortly.

I nodded my understanding, then, gently holding the cool rag to his pulse for several moments before wiping down his collarbones. I stopped there, though, suddenly conscious of our proximity and very nearly distracted by the wall of his chest and the trail of dark blonde hair there – something I had somehow managed to shove to the back of my mind until now. Fighting to keep a blush from rising in my cheeks, I settled on the stool and withdrew the rag, occupying myself with folding it neatly. “Are you feeling any better, yet?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips as he pulled the blanket higher to cover his arms. “More cold than hot, now. But yes. A little.”

“Good,” I smiled. “Try to sleep, Commander. I’ll be here.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

“I know,” I said, standing and moving the stool back to his desk to give him some space, then crossing my legs as I sat again. “But I want to.”

An unreadable expression crossed his face at that, but it quickly melted away as he let his eyelids slide shut. It seemed he was tired enough to truly rest now, and so I said nothing more, hoping that the drone of the village and the comfort of company would let him fall asleep easily. I knew the possibility of him having a nightmare was great, and I wanted to stay in case his fever spiked afterwards. Or if it spiked anyway.

I bit my lip as I thought about it all. I knew if I could dream here, I would be having nightmares too, and I really wouldn’t be in a position to criticize him for not wanting to experience that. I had a difficult enough time pushing the memories of my attack and of my trek through the Fade behind me during the day. Sometimes I could still see Willem’s face as he died, still hear the god-awful sounds I had heard in the Fade. These things would most assuredly haunt me at night if it were possible. And there was no shortage of demons who would love to use those memories as weapons against me, either. I felt pity for Cullen, who had to deal with reliving such terror every single night, the memories of his torture never leaving him even after all this time, and the absence of lyrium amplifying everything that had been numbed over the years. In a way, despite the bizarre nature of my dreamless sleep, I felt incredibly lucky in comparison.

For hours I sat there, occupying myself only by straightening the errant piles of paperwork on his desk and reading the reports that lay on top of each. I watched him carefully, and when he finally slipped into a deep slumber I knew would bring repair to his system, the sound of his steady breathing becoming clearer in the quieter night air, I relaxed a little. Still, I elected to stay, despite my growling stomach, knowing that until he broke a sweat, it wasn’t over.

Despite my best attempts to stay awake and watch over the Commander, though, I eventually felt the dark shadow of sleep pulling at me, too, and I dozed off at his desk without knowing whether or not his fever had finally broken.


	20. Chapter 20

When I finally woke, the first thing I became aware of was a slight heaviness pressing down on me. My cheekbone dug painfully into my forearm, and my legs were asleep from my thighs down, prickling and tingling when I shifted my weight. Slowly peeling my eyelids open, I took a deep breath and inhaled the wonderful scents of old wood and parchment…

Everything came back in a rush. Realizing I had fallen asleep sitting at Cullen’s desk, I sat straight up and glanced towards the cot.

He wasn’t there.

My heart leapt into my throat. Had he gotten worse? Had he gone to the healer? And had I missed it all like an idiot because I couldn’t stay awake? My eyes trailed to the footlocker at the foot of the cot. His armor was gone…

And then, I heard it.

“Again! Sound off!”

“ _Yes, ser!_ ”

“One!”

“ _Two!_ ”

“Three!”

“ _Four!_ ”

Waves of relief crashed over me as I heard Cullen’s distinct barking of cadence beyond the tent, the collective shouts of the soldiers following his rhythmic calls. He’d made it out the fever and was back to work. As I sighed to ease my panic, my attention returned to the heaviness around my shoulders. Curious, I looked to find the source, and my brows rose in surprise.

He had draped his blanket over me, presumably to keep me from getting too cold.

I smiled. No, _beamed_. And blushed.

Shaking my head, but unable to stop grinning ridiculously, I stretched and slowly stood, shrugging off the heavy fabric. My grin quickly faded when my numb legs protested the movement mightily, making me wince as the feeling gradually returned to the nerves. I hissed in a breath as the limbs “woke,” leaning a hand on the desk to let off some of my weight for momentary relief from the maddening sensation. When my legs _finally_ adjusted enough for me to walk without screaming or falling flat on my face, I folded the blanket and replaced it on Cullen’s bed. Then, I went back to the desk to retrieve my gloves and my hat, the latter of which had slid off of my head when sleep had overtaken me.

But when I moved my gloves, I noticed a piece of parchment had been folded and tucked underneath them. Or at least, I _thought_ it had; I didn’t remember throwing them on top of any paperwork. Pulling the paper out from under the gloves, I carefully unfolded it to see only two words written there in a tight, slightly slanted Orlesian script:

_Thank you._

_~ C_

I looked up from the parchment, slowly refolding it with eyes wide. Cullen had given me a thank-you note. And had kindly written it in Orlesian, so I would have no trouble at all understanding him.

My inner fangirl squealed so loudly Cole could probably hear it all the way across Ferelden.

I opened the note once more and indulged myself by reading it again, shamelessly studying the handwriting and admiring how neat it was. It wasn’t like Leliana’s smooth and evenly-spaced cursive, nor was it as swirling and embellished as Josephine’s practiced penmanship, but it was still very pretty. It was such a stark contrast to the blockiness of the runic letters he had written in his chain correspondence with the other advisors.

I shook my head and smiled to myself as I absorbed this information. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that Cullen might know how to write in Orlesian just like Josie and Leliana, but it made complete sense, now that I thought about it. The Chantry originated in Orlais…it would be not unlike Catholic priests knowing how to read Latin. There were probably mandatory lessons with the Orlesian Chant of Light during Templar training.

Folding the note a final time, I tucked it into my sash for safekeeping. I was relieved to know that Cullen actually appreciated me staying to take care of him and didn’t appear to be angry at me for ignoring his initial protests against my aid. I knew it was rather difficult to refuse help when truly ill, even when verbally objecting. But I had feared that, afterwards, he would be upset that I couldn’t mind my own business, and that I invaded his personal space. I was glad to see that didn’t seem to be so.

Still, it didn’t erase the fact that I _had_ invaded his personal space. Memories of helping him into the tent flooded back – the feeling of his muscled back and chest beneath my gloves, and of his heart thumping powerfully below my palm. My mouth went dry and my cheeks flushed hotly at the thought of it. Swallowing, I reached for my gloves, pulling them on and trying desperately to direct my mind away from the formerly shirtless Commander whose tent in which I was still loitering. Huffing out a sigh, I made sure I was presentable, smoothing my hair under my hat, and departed for my cabin.

When I emerged, Cullen was still barking cadence to the troops, who were engaged in calisthenics while fully armored. I walked quickly past the training area, not giving anyone on the sidelines a chance to talk to me; I didn’t want to have to explain myself to any curious minds that happened to witness me leaving his tent.

_That might cause some problems._

The sun was blindingly bright today, already high in its arc overhead, and I noticed, then, that I had slept late enough to completely miss Strider’s practice. I cursed inwardly; he’d surely ask me about it tomorrow. Or today, even, if he could catch me.  I’d tell him the truth, of course, but I’d have to keep it minimal.

Then, suddenly, my stomach growled rather obnoxiously, as I had now been without both yesterday’s supper and this morning’s breakfast. I glanced longingly in the direction of the Singing Maiden, but shook my head “no” to myself and wrapped my arms about my torso, ducking into my cabin instead. I couldn’t eat just yet. I still had one more thing to do regarding last night’s events.

To my great relief, it seemed Jim had done just as I asked and directed all messengers for the Commander to my cabin. When I entered, I found a sizeable stack of parchment waiting for me on my table. They were all folded, though, and so the volume of the stack made the amount of paperwork appear much larger than it really was. Still, it was an impressive pile of correspondence for the Commander to have to sift through. I almost felt bad for having temporarily withheld so much information from Cullen, some of which might have been time sensitive. But then I reminded myself that, in his state, he couldn’t have handled it anyway.

After refreshing myself a little, I moved to the table and sat down, preparing to write a note for Cullen that I would send by messenger along with the rest of the letters. I pushed aside my work with the Chant, procured a fresh piece of parchment, and thought for a moment, quill poised in midair. Should I write in the common script or Orlesian? Cullen had gone out of his way to write in a tongue I could easily understand. Thus, after a breath, I decided I would do the same. Slowly and carefully, I dipped my pen into my inkwell and scrawled out a small message for him in my best runic letters:

_Commander,_

_Due to last night’s events, I had these letters directed to me. I did not want you to have to worry about them while you were indisposed._

_~ Tamsyn_

Laying the quill aside, then, I blew on the parchment to dry the ink. I had debated signing with a title of some sort, to make it more professional, but I wasn’t quite sure what to put, and so, ultimately, I just left my name. The others signed only their names all the time, so hopefully it wasn’t impertinent.

_Of course it’s not impertinent. You’re an advisor, too!_

I sighed heavily as I stood and folded the note and then collected the messages, remembering how I had acted towards Jim when ordering him to help me. In retrospect, it felt incredibly awkward, as it seemed so pretentious. Why was it so difficult to accept the fact I was on equal footing with the rest of the Inner Circle and that I needed to behave that way?

 _You’re an advisor too, Tamsyn._ I reminded myself. _You’re an advisor, too._

But despite trying to drill that fact into my own head, I doubted I would ever grow comfortable with it.

\------------------------------------------------------

After I had made sure the Commander’s backlog of messages would reach him, I headed to the Singing Maiden for an early lunch at last. I was positively starving, and the wonderful smell of freshly baked brown bread and roasted meat that wafted lazily from the tavern made my mouth water. When I entered and allowed my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, I noticed that the establishment was much less busy than usual, and so I took my food – Flissa’s signature stew – and found a secluded table in the far corner to enjoy my meal in relative solitude.

That was when I noticed a few looks.

I hadn’t been aware of them at first, being as preoccupied with eating as I was. But when I finally lifted my gaze from my bowl for the first time after sitting down, I noticed a pair of soldiers glancing at me from time to time as they talked in hushed tones across the room from me. One of them, the one whose face I could see the most clearly, would smile occasionally. Actually, it was more like a smirk of amusement.

Did I have stew on my face?

I wiped tentatively at my mouth with the back of my hand. Nothing came off. Frowning, I self-consciously straightened my hat and tugged at my breastplate, desperately trying to somehow both alleviate the situation causing such stares and return my attention to my stew while ignoring the gossips. That was made more difficult, however, when a stray glance revealed another group of soldiers with their eyes wandering in my direction.

It was hard to keep eating when I kept thinking there was something wrong with my appearance. Thankfully, however, a welcome distraction arrived shortly thereafter in the form of Blackwall. After spotting me from where he stood at the counter, the not-Warden wandered casually over to my table with his lunch in hand. “Do you mind some company, my lady?”

“Not at all.” I gestured at the chair opposite me, where his bulk would conveniently block the view of some of the staring soldiers. “Go right ahead.”

“Thank you.” He slid into the seat, sighing heavily as he settled his weight with the distinct creak of leather. “Ah, you’ll forgive me, but I don’t exactly know how to properly address you,” he added.

“Oh,” I blinked at him, wondering why that was a concern for him. “Just Tamsyn is fine. I think I would prefer it, really. I mean, after I officially joined the Inquisition, people started calling me ‘Lady Tamsyn,’ but I think that’s for the same reason you’re asking me about it. I don’t have a title other than Advisor for the Inquisition.” I paused, and then added with a snort, “And I’m certainly _not_ nobility.”

He chortled at my addendum. “Very well, Tamsyn. Although, I probably will continue to address you as ‘lady,’ for the most part. You are, after all, higher in the chain of command than I am, and old habits are hard to break, as the saying goes.”

“Not a problem,” I replied, dipping my bread into my stew and letting it soak up some of the flavorful broth. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Good,” he said, smiling behind his beard. Afterwards, we ate in silence for several moments before he glanced up. “You seem quite well-settled considering you haven’t been, ah, _here_ very long. How are other people taking it?”

“As well as you can imagine,” I smirked after swallowing a chunk of bread. “First I was crazy. Then I was either crazy or sent by the Maker. Now I’m just ‘that weird girl we can’t explain but she knows the future so use her to your advantage.’” I squinted at him curiously, “Why, how are _you_ taking it, Warden Blackwall?”

His brows quirked a little at the question. “As well as you can imagine,” he replied, echoing my answer, which elicited a chuckle from me. “I have to admit, it’s difficult to wrap the mind around someone like you actually existing. Then again, it’s also difficult to wrap the mind around the Breach existing, but it does all the same.”

“Sound logic,” I remarked, spooning the last of my stew into my mouth.

He nodded. “I think it helps that you’ve meshed with our way of life so well already. Makes your origins easier to overlook. Or even forget about.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I said with a wry smile. “I figured running around screaming ‘I’m from another world’ all the time wouldn’t exactly do me any favors.”

He gave a quiet _hmph_ of amusement at that and returned to his meal. I finished off my bread, too, and so we both sat in silence for several more moments. It was then I noticed yet another group of soldiers in the tavern with eyes straying in my direction. I could feel the tips of my ears getting hot, and I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“So, Blackwall, can you tell me something?” I began, wondering if he had any clue as to what was so damned fascinating to these people who couldn’t stop _looking_ at me.

“Hmm? Sure, what’s on your mind?”

“Why are all these people staring at me?”

At that, Blackwall’s brows furrowed heavily, and he glanced around at the taverngoers, who were suddenly aware of being watched and abruptly focused their attention back on their food. He seemed quite perplexed for a moment, his expression one of puzzlement. “Well, I don’t rightly…” He started before he trailed off as realization seemed to strike. It dawned across his face as he slowly turned back towards me, nodding to himself. “Oh…I think I know what this is all about.”

“What?” I asked, eager for any clarification at this point. “What’s the matter?”

He sighed and leaned across the table, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “Apparently word has gotten around camp that a young lady went to the Commander’s tent yesterday evening and didn’t come out all night. I didn’t catch a name at the time I heard the rumor being passed around by some guards, but judging from these looks you’re getting, they must think it was you. And, ah,” his grey-blue gaze dropped to the table, “you can imagine how wagging tongues have interpreted that.”

My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open, my spoon clattering in my bowl. “Oh my God…”

The soldiers thought I had slept with their Commander.

My face fell into my hands with an audible _smack_ of leather against skin. My cheeks were on fire, and I felt like I was going to throw up. I was so stupid and caught up in the moment that I hadn’t anticipated something like this, and I bloody well should have. I hadn’t cared about anyone watching me help Cullen into his tent or setting Jim as a guard at the time I had done it. I had been briefly concerned this morning when I had left, but I was thinking more along the lines of trespassing where I didn’t have any business being. I had managed to naïvely forget about all the _other_ possible implications my presence there might have to observers.

Those who had not asked Jim had just assumed they knew what was going on. And probably some of those who _had_ asked Jim thought he was just covering for the Commander or feeding lies I told him to tell…

“It’s not really any of my business,” Blackwall added, “but if it’s a false accusation…”

“That’s the problem,” I whined, one hand plopping atop the table, causing the dishes to rattle. “I _did_ go to his tent last night and didn’t come out until morning, but I _didn’t_ sleep with him!”

As Blackwall’s expression shifted to one of curiosity, I explained, “He was ill! He overworked himself and didn’t want a healer, and I couldn’t, in good conscience, leave him alone with a high fever!” Even though I left out the details of _why_ exactly he was indisposed, it was still the blunt truth of the matter.

At that, Blackwall grunted his understanding, “I see. So you stayed with him to make sure he came out of it all right. A truly innocent deed, but one that’s gotten misconstrued by those who don’t know the details. And now it’s putting you both through the grind of the rumor mill.”

“Yes,” I said, putting my face back in both hands. I almost wanted to cry. Cullen was going to kill me if he had to deal with the repercussions of this, I just _knew_ it…

“Would it help to say the rumors aren’t exactly negative in nature?” Blackwall added tentatively.

“ _What?_ ” my voice was muffled behind my hands, but I pulled them down slightly so I could see him over my fingertips.

“Well,” he grinned a little, “judging from what little I’ve heard, most seem to think it’s something of a good thing if the Commander…ah…”

“Got laid,” I finished flatly. “Which, he _didn’t_.”

Blackwall chuckled, “I believe you, Tamsyn.” He then turned serious again as he continued, “But I’m sure that does nothing to change the fact _your_ reputation is still on the line for as long as these rumors are alive. The Commander may not fall in the eyes of the public as much, but I’m honestly not so sure what they think about you in this falsified situation.”

Great. Just great. What was I going to be, now? The slattern who finally gave General Uptight a good night? I slid down in the chair and put my forehead on my arms, wanting nothing more than to sink through the floor and disappear.

“If it’s any consolation, my lady,” he reached forward and patted my elbow consolingly, “rumors like these usually go through the mill fairly quick. In a few days, they’ll probably forget all about it.”

“Good,” I replied, not lifting my head.

Because I sure as hell wouldn’t.

\------------------------------------------------------

As if the day couldn’t get any worse, following an intense practice with Delia that had a somewhat larger audience than usual – and during which I had worked very hard to _make_ myself pass out from exhaustion – I received an invitation to tea with Josephine, Vivienne, and Leliana that evening.

I was almost positive that all three of them had already caught wind of the same rumors that Blackwall had, and I certainly didn’t want a lecture on decorum or to spend my time there getting needled for information about something that hadn’t happened. But I felt in my gut that was _exactly_ how things were going to go down.

I went to the Chantry that evening with a knot in my stomach that refused to go away, along with sore muscles and a burgeoning headache.

Part of me didn’t know why I was so upset about the rumor going around about Cullen and me. People were going to talk. People were going to make up things and gossip about false information, and no one could really stop them. That was just common sense. No matter if _they_ though it was true, _I_ knew it wasn’t true, and so did Cullen. Plus, wasn’t it better for morale to go up a little bit through sharing a silly rumor than it was to go _down_ with the knowledge that the Commander had actually gotten ill from overworking himself? That sounded like something Leliana would say about it all…

Even so, it was something that could be used against us – at the very least, to drag our names through the mud and discredit us. After all, we were talking about the same society where it was perfectly fine for nobles to cheat on a spouse so long as one wasn’t discovered doing so, but the very instant word got out, it was all “ _tut-tut-tut_ …destroy them!” The act itself wasn’t frowned upon, no – it was the matter of getting _caught_. And, for all intents and purposes, true or not true, Cullen and I had gotten “caught.” All because I wanted to heed his desire for secrecy and yet still help him recover…

_Damn it…_

When I finally entered Josie’s office, the Ambassador, Leliana, and Vivienne were already there with teacups in hand. They looked up together when I walked in, all giving me small nods of greeting.

“Am I late?”

“Of course not, Tamsyn,” Josephine reassured me from where she stood by her desk, pouring a fresh cup and extending it to me, “We just decided to start a little early.”

“Oh,” I said quietly, accepting the tea with a tentative smile and perching on one of the side chairs near the door. In an attempt to appear oblivious regarding the current calamity, I asked casually, “So, what shall we talk about today, ladies?”

“First,” Leliana began, setting her cup and saucer aside with a small _clink_. “Yes, we’ve already heard the rumors, and yes, we’ve already enacted a solution, so you need not worry yourself with it.”

My mouth dropped open, and I nearly let the cup and saucer slide out of my hands in shock.

“Jim was quite helpful, you see,” the Nightingale continued. Her enigmatic smile, which I assumed was intended to be one of amusement, was actually more than a little disturbing to witness. “You were fortunate that you decided to use one of my most honest scouts last night.”

“ _Painfully_ honest, if I may say,” Vivienne remarked from her usual chair.

“He told us all about what happened with the Commander,” Josephine elaborated. “Of his sudden illness, and how you employed him to fetch items to help the situation…”

“You did a good thing, darling,” Vivienne added, “even if it was a bit neglectful of your own image. But you shouldn’t be punished by a vicious public for selflessly helping one of our own through a difficult time like you did.”

Josephine nodded her agreement. “Especially if that vicious public is our own soldiers and workers.”

“So,” Leliana crossed her arms as she leaned back against the Ambassador’s desk. “We decided to start some rumors of our own…rumors that the lying gossips spreading the word about your supposed night with the Commander are, in fact, purposely trying to sabotage our work by besmirching our good name. That they are, quite possibly, Chantry plants ordered to bring scandal to the Inquisition’s doorstep.”

Vivienne took a sip of her tea and elegantly returned her cup to her saucer, almost without sound. “That is to say, Tamsyn, that I think your problem will dissipate in no time.” Gesturing to my own tea, then, she added, “Do drink up, my dear, before it gets cold.”

I was stunned…too stunned to say anything for several awkward moments, during which I took a rather unlady-like gulp of tea to fill the void. At last, though, after clearing my throat, I found my voice.

“I, uh…thank you,” I said, glancing to each of them. “I mean…in retrospect, I probably didn’t handle it in the best way, but…thanks. I really appreciate the help.”

“I would advise you be wary of your surroundings in the future,” Vivienne replied as I drained my cup with my next drink from it. She was right. It was already almost cold.

“Agreed,” Josephine added. “Though the concern you no doubt had for the Commander’s privacy and the morale of the soldiers is appreciated.”

_Knock, knock, knock._

The sudden rapping on the door had the Ambassador’s brows arching high. “Come in!”

After her answer, the door opened rather forcefully, and Cullen himself ducked in, immediately locating me with his sharp amber gaze. Pin-drop silence in the office followed.

 _Shit. He knows now, too,_ I thought, feeling my palms breaking out into a sweat in my gloves. The other advisors may not have been that disappointed in me, but that didn’t mean the Commander wouldn’t place the blame for the gossip in the ranks firmly on my doorstep.

“I’m not interrupting anything too important, am I?” he asked, looking between us.

“Not at all, Commander,” Josephine replied, her smile warm and welcoming. “What do you need?”

“Just to talk with Tamsyn…if you have a moment?” his gaze flicked back to me questioningly. I glanced to Josephine, and she merely nodded her acquiescence. Beside her, I could see the corner of Leliana’s mouth curling upwards ever so slightly.

Despite the tenfold return of my anxiousness, I excused myself as politely as I could – trying desperately to ignore the looks exchanged between the women as I left – and followed Cullen out of Josephine’s office. I listened to her office door slowly creaking closed behind us, the rhythmic thump and jangle of the Commander’s footsteps in front of me. We were halfway out of the near-empty Chantry when he turned into one of the shadowed side alcoves, out of the way of the main thoroughfare.

“Are you…are you feeling better?” I asked to break the awkward silence that hung between us, my voice feeling unnaturally loud in the quiet stone hall even though I was almost whispering.

“I am, yes,” he replied, his voice just as hushed. And indeed, he did appear to be better. Much better. The color had returned to his skin, and his eyes were bright and clear, illuminated even in the shadows from the torchlight. “The fever broke in the middle of the night, thank the Maker, and my headache is gone.”

“Good,” I said with a sheepish smile. “I’m afraid I wasn’t aware of it when it happened, despite my intentions of making sure you pulled through all right.”

“I saw where you fell asleep at my desk.” His voice was still quiet as he spoke, and he shook his head. “Tamsyn, you didn’t have to stay that long. You didn’t have to stay _at all_ , much less set a sentry and keep the messengers at bay.”

I shrugged, “Well, Jim was there and available, and I didn’t want him or any other nosy busybody bothering us, so…”

He chuckled a bit, “I wondered for a moment why I found him asleep on the ground outside under one of the braziers this morning. Then I realized you must have put him there, and didn’t tell him when he could leave.”

My cheeks heated. I _had_ neglected to tell him that. _Woops._ It was a wonder he hadn’t frozen to death.

Cullen sighed. “Regardless…you found my note, I know, but I would like to tell you again in person: thank you. I appreciate what you did.”

“Well, uh…you’re quite welcome, Commander,” I said. “Like I said, it was the right thing to do.” I paused, scrambling for something else to say to make this less awkward. Giving a nervous laugh, I added, “You know, I was actually afraid you might be angry at me when you recovered.”

“Angry? Whatever for?”

I bit my lip as I let my gaze fall away from him, unable to meet his eyes. “Well, you did seem irritated at me at first, and then I went and started ordering you around, and I invaded your personal space, and-”

I stopped abruptly as he put both his hands on my shoulders and squeezed firmly in order to silence me. “Tamsyn…it’s all right.”

I blinked up at him. “Are you sure? I mean…” I trailed, guilt eating at me. “You know about the rumors, right?”

He sighed heavily once more as he released me, his eyes rolling towards the ceiling. “Yes. And if there is anyone I should be angry at, it’s the soldiers who started such a rumor and not you.”

Utter silence followed. I had to admit, I was somewhat surprised at his reaction. So, he wasn’t upset at me after all for sparking such talk amongst his men?

He must have sensed my astonishment, as he continued, “They are _soldiers_ , Tamsyn. They think of family and home and the cause, yes, but they also think a great deal about, ah, _personal_ affairs…” his hand went to his neck in his signature gesture of bashfulness. “Perhaps too much,” he added flatly, “and it’s not enough to share tales of their own exploits, but they have to make them up for entertainment as well.” He dropped his hand and shook his head again, “That they start rumors about _me_ is expected, even if it _is_ a breach of decorum. But dragging _you_ into it is the outside of enough. I can only hope Leliana’s solution to the issue returns quick results, because talking to them would only fan the flames.”

Remembering what the others had said to me just a few minutes prior, I shook my head. “I should have been more mindful of how it would look. I’m sorry; this is mostly my fault, really.”

At that, his brow furrowed heavily, his golden eyes searching mine. “It is not your _fault_ , Tamsyn. If anyone is to blame, it is I, for putting you in that situation to begin with. You were right…I should not have neglected my health because of my fears. Had I not, you would not have had to help me in the first place.”

After a moment of holding that soul-piercing gaze of his, my only answer was a sigh, putting my forehead in one hand. Was this going to be our thing, now? Taking the burden of blame off of each other all the time?

Before I could say anything more, he withdrew a folded piece of parchment from his vest. “In any case, I have something for you that might cheer you up. I interrupted your meeting because I thought perhaps you would like to know about this before the others. Especially since you had so much to do with it.  Here,” he said, extending the parchment to me with a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, stretching his scar ever so slightly. Oh, how that smile made me weak, and I forcefully focused my attention on the piece of paper, hoping the shadows hid my glowing cheeks.

I froze though, when I saw the familiar red and white ribbon under the broken wax seal.

A Templar letter. Could it be?

Eagerly opening the parchment, I found a slanted runic script awaiting me, and I squinted as I slowly read the contents within:

_Commander Cullen,_

_We have left Therinfal, following the advice of your Herald. There was a struggle at the gates, but we managed not to suffer any injuries among our own. I will tell you more when we arrive._

_We are headed to Haven, and we should arrive in a week’s time, if we push our horses. I hope your base is prepared for two dozen more Templars._

_~ Knight-Templar Delrin Barris_

My mouth fell open, my eyes widening in disbelief. Once I processed that this was indeed real, that it was really happening, I could barely contain my elation, and as I looked back up at Cullen, it seemed he shared in my excitement, his smile widening.

“It worked!” I nearly squeaked as I tried to keep from outright squealing my delight in the noiseless Chantry. “It…It actually _worked_! They’re coming! _Here!_ ”

He chuckled at my reaction. “Yes, they are. That’s two dozen lives you rescued from the machinations of an Envy demon. Well done, Lady Tamsyn,” he said, obviously pleased that his former Order could be salvaged in some way after all. For a minute, his face positively glowed with pride. But then, that glow faded somewhat as he added somberly, “Though I wish there were more, I suspect the others left behind are already…too far gone to be saved.”

I nodded, immediately sobering. There were still going to be Red Templars, but there would at least be two dozen fewer to spread the infection, now.

“However,” he continued, “we mustn’t forget that this _is_ a significant victory for us. Barris’s men will add much needed reinforcements to our ranks. The only problem now is going to be integrating them with the rebel mages once the Herald returns with them from Redcliffe.”

I chewed on my lower lip again. I had neglected to think about that part. Something told me that Barris and Fiona might butt heads if they weren’t kept separated. And if not them, then most certainly their underlings. “They have to work together,” I replied firmly, and was met by a nod of agreement from Cullen.

“They will. We will find a way.”


	21. Chapter 21

Two days later, the Herald returned once more.

It was as if the entire settlement held its breath as Maxwell, Cassandra, Solas, Varric, and Dorian all rode into the village, followed by the entirety of the rebel mages who had taken refuge in Redcliffe. I watched them arrive from a distance, standing on a wooden tower behind the palisade alongside one of the watch guards. It was snowing again, thick and fast this time, and I had to squint to count their number as their silhouettes moved through the grey.

There were at least three dozen mages that I could see, with Fiona leading them, their heads and shoulders bent forward against the heavy snowfall. There could have been more, and I knew Fiona would likely call more rebels to us…those who were yet hiding in the wilderness. Many of the mages who accompanied the former Grand Enchanter still wore their Circle robes – however tattered, faded, and stained – with heavy cloaks draped about their white-dusted shoulders and using their twisted staves as walking sticks. They were a bedraggled lot, wearied by travel and stress and cold. But there was something else there, too…something in the way they walked that betrayed more than just physical fatigue or emotional exhaustion.

Behind them was another small group – the contingent Leliana and Cullen had sent to support Maxwell and his companions. There, sandwiched between two soldiers, hands shackled and his head bowed in defeat, was Gereon Alexius.

Instead of meeting the group at the stables, I instead elected to head for the war room to get out of the elements. The other advisors appeared to be of the same mind, as I saw Cullen squeezing past the crowd at the gates right after I descended the watch tower, and in the distance, near the Chantry, I caught a glimpse of Leliana as she quickly strode past the campsite for the doors. Cassandra would no doubt direct Maxwell to the war room herself, and I could save meeting Dorian and Fiona for another time.

When I ducked into the Chantry but a minute later, I let out a long and shivering breath. It was miserably cold out. The temperature had always been below freezing in Haven ever since I arrived, plummeting an untold number of degrees lower at night. But now, with winter slowly creeping around the Frostbacks like icy fingers, the air outside was almost painful…especially when the sky was blanketed with thick clouds, like it was now. The snow swirled around my ankles as I pushed open the heavy, creaking doors, and I was just moving to close them behind me when I saw Cullen jogging to catch up. I hesitated long enough for him to slip inside beside me before quickly pulling the doors shut again; the Chantry itself wasn’t _that_ warm, but it was better than the outdoors by simple virtue of sheltering from the biting wind and stinging snow alone.

“Thank you,” Cullen said breathlessly, nodding to me in greeting as we both continued on into the Chantry, walking side-by-side. There was snow stuck in the fur of his mantle and in his hair, and his nose was pink from the cold. Nevertheless, he seemed to be in good spirits, a faint smile curling the corners of his mouth upwards.

“Excited by the Herald’s return, there, Commander?” I teased.

He chuckled lightly. “Perhaps. I am eager to see the Breach dealt with. Once we ensure that is no longer a threat, we can finally focus our attention on hunting down the bastard who created it, and afterwards, return some sense of stability to the world.”

“You have an awful lot of men, now,” I observed, remembering just how many troops I had seen on the grounds. It was an impressive number. “Enough to almost be called a small army, in fact. What do you plan on doing with all those soldiers once the demons are beaten back?” I knew full well what was really going to happen with them, but I was curious as to what the goal originally was before Corypheus’s attack…

“Well,” he began, gaze fixed somewhere ahead of us as we traversed the Chantry’s interior, “outside of our efforts against the Divine’s murderer, the primary order of business would be to stamp out the marauders taking advantage of the chaos and secure the roads in Ferelden, the Empire, and the Marches. Until they are clear, food and other supplies cannot safely be transported to the areas that need them most, and until we do that, the people will continue to suffer. We should take note of any damaged infrastructure and do what is necessary to keep travel smooth and uninhibited until the respective nations can handle their problems more effectively.” He paused, and then frowned a bit as he added, “We will also need to deal with the Envy demon left behind at Therinfal, along with whatever fallout this red lyrium mess has caused. We cannot afford for that madness to continue unchecked.”

He slowed to a halt outside Josephine’s office and glanced sideways at me as I drew up beside him. “You know what we’ll be doing, though, don’t you? Rylen said something about you telling him he’d have his own fortress in the Western Approach someday.” His eyebrow cocked at me. “That would require manpower even greater than what we have here. And certainly more resources to maintain. Are you saying that our hunt will take us that far? Into the desert wastes?”

I sighed, nodding in affirmation as I let my gaze fall towards the floor. “Yes. And then some. Make no mistake, Commander, this isn’t just a hunt for some apostate on the loose…this really is a war.”

“Truly?” he asked, and I looked back up at him to see both surprise and concern written in the furrow of his brow and the squint lines that emerged at the corners of his eyes. “Then you are also saying that some sort of ar-”

He stopped as Josephine’s office door suddenly opened and the Ambassador stepped out, followed closely by Leliana. I silently gave thanks to the Maker for this interruption, because he was getting dangerously close to making me spill the beans about Corypheus’s army.

“Ah! There they are!” Josephine said, giving us both a bright smile. “Are we ready?”

“ _Yes_.”

Cullen and I answered at the same time, making us both look at each other with wide eyes and apologetic expressions.

“Well,” Leliana chuckled, “I think it is safe to say they are both in agreement. What do you think, Josie?”

Josephine, too, stifled a small laugh. “I think you are right, Leliana.”

Cullen cleared his throat loudly as we filed into the war room, then, taking our places and waiting for Cassandra and Maxwell to arrive. No one had any reports to speak of, and so I assumed the meeting would serve solely to gather information about Redcliffe and the mages, as well as develop a rough plan for the Inquisition’s next move.

We didn’t have to wait long. The heavy booted steps of the Herald and the Seeker were audible for several moments before they entered, and when the door finally slammed open, I saw that they hadn’t bothered removing either their armor or weapons yet, save their helms. Both of them were red-faced from the biting cold.

“It…is done,” Cassandra said wearily, leaning on the war table for a moment to catch her breath. “We have our mages.”

“We gathered that from the message you sent ahead,” Leliana replied, pulling her hands behind her back. Glancing to Maxwell, she added, “Welcome back, by the way.”

Maxwell looked at me, and then at the rest of the advisors, his lips thin as he pressed them together. He looked caught halfway between bewildered and furious. “That was insane. Absolutely, positively, nugshit insane.”

That was one way to put _In Hushed Whispers_.

“I assumed your letter was brief because you prefer to elaborate on the situation here,” Josephine replied. “It must be quite the story. We are all eager to hear what happened.”

“ _Madness_ is what happened,” Maxwell said tersely, running a gauntleted hand through his already messy hair and just messing it up further. “That time magic…it… _Alexius_.” He shook his head, closing his eyes tight. “Alexius was angry when your forces showed themselves. He tried to open a rift right there in the throne room and Dorian…Dorian _did_ something to try and stop him and we were thrown into the future.”

Cassandra and the advisors all looked back and forth between each other, the Herald, and me, but I kept my mouth shut about it. The need for “I told you so” right now was unquestionably _zilch_. Judging from Cassandra’s expression of utter disbelief, Maxwell hadn’t even told his other companions about what had actually happened yet.

“The future?” Cullen asked incredulously, cocking his head at the Herald. “How is that poss-”

“I don’t know, and quite frankly, I don’t care. Regardless of _how_ it happened, it happened, and we were lucky to find a way to reverse it and make it back alive,” Maxwell replied shortly, a muscle in his neck jumping as he spoke. I felt my brows hit my hairline. Obviously he hadn’t taken that little experience too well…

Utter silence followed. Cullen braced both hands on the pommel of his sword. Josephine averted her gaze and pulled her quill hand behind her back. Maxwell took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Not looking at me as he put his forehead in his hand and rubbed his temples, he said quietly, “Tamsyn…if you know this part in detail, tell them. I can’t bear to…”

“All right,” I said, nodding my acquiescence, “It’s fine. I can tell them.” Then, turning to the others, I continued where Maxwell left off.

“The Herald and Dorian were both zapped a year into the future in the dungeons of Redcliffe Castle, a future that reflected what would have happened had time continued on without them.” I paused, “In this dark future, the Breach was reopened and grew until it allowed the Fade to merge with the real world. Demons ran amok, abominations along with them, and formed into an army marching across the world, conquering all who stood in its way. Red lyrium overtook the land,” I glanced to Cullen, “helped along by the corrupted Templars.”

“But what about us? The Inquisition?” Leliana asked, her blue eyes slightly widened as she absorbed this information like a sponge.

“Gone,” I said simply, sparing another glance to Cullen, whose expression was unreadable. “Its forces were crushed after launching wave after wave, dashing itself to pieces against the walls of the castle, all in the vain hope of saving the Herald.”

“But surely King Alistair-” Josephine began, looking at me over the flickering candle of her clipboard, but I shook my head.

“Dead, along with the rest of Ferelden’s army.”

Leliana looked baffled now. “But what about Empress Celene?”

“Assassinated,” I explained. “The Empire was the first to be overrun by the demons and destroyed.”

“You had long been killed, Commander,” Maxwell said to Cullen, his voice raw as he found the courage to speak again. “By all accounts, your head was on a pike atop the gatehouse – a trophy for the Venatori.”

Cullen visibly swallowed, a muscle clenching in his jaw, and yet his face bore an almost stoic expression of acceptance as he replied, “I would rather have been dead than live in such a world.”

“As would I,” Cassandra agreed solemnly.

“You, Josephine,” Maxwell continued, “were nowhere to be found. I was…almost glad of that.”

“But everyone else left alive,” I added, glancing to Leliana, “was captured and tortured.” I waited to see if Maxwell wanted to elaborate. When he was silent and instead nodded at me to continue, I barreled onwards, “Red lyrium and the Blight. The Herald’s comrades and you, Sister Nightingale, were all infected with it. Experimented upon like animals.”

At that, Cassandra and Leliana visibly recoiled. “Why?” the latter asked, “Why would Alexius and his Venatori do something like this? Why conquer the world only to simultaneously destroy it with plague and poison?”

“They are more than just extremists,” I explained. “They’re fanatical zealots who have dedicated themselves to the service of a being they call the ‘Elder One.’ They worship him as a new god, and he has pledged to restore ancient Tevinter and replace the Maker, but through twisted methods that only bring about destruction. A sort of reverse cleansing, I guess. The Venatori are his tools,” I crossed my arms, choosing my words carefully so as to avoid describing the army too much. “Just as Alexius was, manipulated by false promises.”

Cullen’s lip curled in disgust as his hand flexed atop the pommel of his sword, “And what kind of promise of anything claiming to be a god would be enough to destroy the world in exchange?”

“His son,” Maxwell said quietly, leaning forward onto the table with just his extended fingers. “His son, Felix, was infected with the Blight in an attack not long ago. This Elder One apparently made a promise to Alexius that Felix would be spared from death. And so Alexius pledged himself to the Elder One’s service in return, doing his experiments with time magic at his orders and coming to the south to find a way to go back in time.” He chuckled mirthlessly, lifting his gaze to Leliana, “For all the good it did him…after we rescued as many of the imprisoned as we could, you slew Felix right in front of him.”

“I…did?” she asked, her lifted brows betraying her surprise.

Maxwell pushed off from the table, gripping the hilt of his sword at his hip. “Yes, you did. You had changed. You had been tortured the most out of everyone there. Apparently, your blood has significant resistance to the Blight. They used it as fuel for their experiments. I interrupted a… _session_ …when I found you.”

Josephine peered around Cullen at the Nightingale, mouth agape. “Maker… _Leliana_ …”

“You had lost all faith,” the Herald continued softly, his gaze falling to the old maps spread before us. “And yet you refused to acknowledge the Elder One as the new god. When we found our way back to the throne room and Dorian began to reopen a rift back to the present, you stood with the others to buy us time. With Cassandra and Varric and Solas, even as corrupted with red lyrium as they were.” He shared a glance with the Seeker, whose own mouth had fallen open, now. The Herald’s gaze drifted from her to Leliana as he added, “You all died. And you, Sister, perished saying the Chant one last time.”

The room fell silent again, and everyone shifted uncomfortably. Clearing my throat, I asked, “So, uh…out of morbid curiosity, Herald…was I there, too?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, his gaze dull as he met mine. “You were there. You were kept like a pet at Alexius’s side – a symbol that not even someone who could apparently divine the future could stop the Elder One. They had cut out your tongue and blinded you…and you were led around on a chain like a dog.”

That…sounded oddly fitting. And more than slightly disturbing. I grimaced, and Josephine clapped a hand over her mouth as she closed her eyes in shock. I almost regretted asking, now. There was yet more nightmare fuel I was thankful wouldn’t work on me…

“Well, Herald,” I sighed, “now you know why you are so important. Why everything comes down to you. Without you and your efforts for the Inquisition…that future comes to pass. If you die, so do we all.”

“There is something I don’t understand,” Cassandra said, shaking her head as she looked around Maxwell at me. “The time magic. What was that for? Why was Alexius forced to keep experimenting with it? Why does this ‘Elder One’ have an interest in using it?”

I pulled my hands behind my back. “Because the Elder One wanted to go back in time, before the Conclave, in order to kill the Herald, thus destroying any possibility of the Breach ever being closed.” At that, Maxwell nodded his confirmation, likely remembering the documents he had uncovered in the dark future. “Thankfully, Alexius never found a way to do that.”

“So this Elder One,” Cullen interjected, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “Was he just taking advantage of the Breach’s existence in order to bring chaos to the world, or did he actually _create_ it?”

I smiled. Now they were catching on. “The latter. And he’s working on the army of demons and the red lyrium plague as we speak.”

“So in order to stop him from bringing his plans to fruition, the first thing we must do is ensure that the Breach is closed and quickly,” said Leliana.

“Which brings us to the matter of the mages and their assistance,” Josephine turned to Maxwell. “If I may ask, how did you come to the arrangement to bring them to Haven?”

“They were conscripted,” he replied simply.

 _Whoa_. That was a surprise.

“ _Conscripted?!_ ” Leliana repeated incredulously. “But…” a sneer suddenly twisted her lips as she shook her head and positively glared at Maxwell. “Herald, you should have consulted us…”

“There was no _time_ for that, Sister!” he retorted, striking the table with his fist. “King Alistair arrived at the castle not two minutes after we restrained Alexius and immediately exiled all the rebel mages from the kingdom. We had to enlist them before they scattered to the four winds!”

“But _conscription_? Forced servitude?”

“They cannot be trusted to act on their own,” Cassandra said firmly.

“They let themselves be enslaved by Tevinter, allowed him to lay claim on a Fereldan castle right under the nose of the reigning monarch and put the _entire world_ at risk by doing so,” Maxwell added pointedly.

“They were _desperate_ ,” Leliana replied. “And desperation makes people do strange things. Dangerous things. Just look at what Alexius did out of desperation for the life of his son.”

“But that _doesn’t_ excuse it,” Cullen countered sharply.

“Alexius would have let the world burn for one life,” Maxwell hissed. “And to the Void with the rest of us! He was so blind that he didn’t see that Felix was dying anyway, that the Elder One was just postponing the inevitable. Not only that, but he was also running out of chances, because his time experiments kept failing.”

“Simply put, the rebels have already proven they cannot be responsible with freedom, either won or given,” Cassandra concluded.

“And now you’ve thrown them right back in the situation they fought to escape,” Leliana said, unable to hide the pure disgust in her voice. “I thought better of you, Cassandra.”

“We were put on the spot, Leliana. We had to make a decision, and so we did. I couldn’t think of a better plan at the time,” the Seeker answered.

“They aren’t going to a Circle, Sister Nightingale,” Maxwell replied.

“And we won’t mistreat them,” Cullen explained, “They will be put under guard, yes, but-”

“Regardless of how it plays out,” Josephine interrupted firmly, “the mages will _not_ see the Herald’s actions here as a boon. We will be lucky if we maintain control over them, and the situation will most certainly deteriorate. It is not a matter of if, but when. There _will_ be another rebellion if this decision stands.”

Cassandra shook her head, “None of that matters, now. The only reason we involved ourselves with the rebels in the first place was to close the Breach. Now that we have them here, we must see that it is done, and soon. The mages must cooperate with us, no matter how they feel about it. We can bicker about image and politics later.”

“Fiona mentioned it would take a few days to prepare the mages fully for something of this magnitude,” Maxwell added. “They will also need proper lyrium potions to bolster their mana.”

“We will have to bring out our stores, then,” Josephine said with a sigh, scribbling some quick notes upon her tablet. “Perhaps even obtain more directly from the dwarves.”

Leliana’s gaze flicked back and forth between Maxwell and me. “We should also look into these other things you saw. The Breach was not this Elder One’s only tool, and like it, we must ensure they are rendered impossible to utilize. The assassination of the Empress would dissolve the greatest force in the south of Thedas, and the formation of a demon army would destroy us all, Breach or no. That’s not counting this red lyrium threat you mentioned.”

Cullen shook his head, “That will take time to organize, and so long as the Breach is still our primary threat, we should focus on it first. Spreading our forces too thin will only ensure our defeat.”

“Agreed,” I said, encouraging the concept of tackling one crisis at a time. “Once the Breach is closed, _then_ you can worry about the demons and the Empress. And tracking down this Elder One.”

It was true, of course. And it was exactly how things would go down. But it didn’t make me feel any better about keeping the looming battle that bridged those two Inquisition foci a secret…

“Very well,” Maxwell sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “Later this evening, I will go fetch all of the documents I recovered from the dark future so you can look over them at your leisure. They’re in my saddlebags right now.”

“I will also have a word with Fiona before interrogating Alexius,” Cassandra added.

“Good,” Cullen said, his gaze lingering on mine. “We will need all the information we can get.”

\------------------------------------------------------

My head was throbbing after the meeting was finally dismissed. I hoped getting out of the stuffy war room and back into the cold air would help ease it. Leliana and Cullen had stayed behind to continue discussing how to approach the Breach and what to prepare for, while the rest of us departed to other business. I was halfway out of the Chantry, however, when I heard Maxwell call from behind me, “Tamsyn?”

I turned around. Jesus, the man looked absolutely tortured. His expression was one of barely-concealed emotional pain. I knew in my gut what he wanted to ask me before the question ever left his mouth.

“Please,” he said, sparing a glance back at the war room and shaking his head, “may we talk in private? I need to…” He trailed, gesturing almost helplessly.

“Of course. I understand, Herald,” I replied gently.

“ _Maxwell_ ,” he snapped, before softening his tone and repeating, “Just…Maxwell. I tire of this title I’ve been given and would like to hear someone call me by name for once.”

I dipped my head respectfully, “As you wish…Maxwell. Lead the way.”

We departed the Chantry, then, but we’d only taken a few steps when we encountered Dorian. The Tevinter Altus apparently had been waiting for Maxwell under Leliana’s tent, as it was yet snowing, and he threw the hood of his cloak atop his head as he emerged to approach us.

“There you are,” he greeted us with a friendly wave. “It went well, I hope?”

The Herald nodded, “We’re getting ready to close the Breach, but it will take a few days.”

“Understandable,” Dorian remarked. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at it up close myself, before then.”

“Go right ahead. I’m sure Sister Nightingale would let you join one of the next scouting patrols, and I’m certain Solas wouldn’t mind going with you if you need explanations,” Maxwell replied. “Perhaps you can learn something we could use to our advantage.”

“Every little bit helps,” I agreed beside him.

At that, Dorian’s gaze fell on me, and he smiled slightly as he looked down at me, “You must be Tamsyn. It is good to see you as you should be, and not as we found you in that horrid future.”

I smirked a little as I replied, “Yes. It’s very nice to still be able to see and have my tongue intact where it belongs.” Smiling earnestly then, I proffered my hand for him to shake, “A pleasure to meet you at last, ser Dorian.”

He took my hand firmly, “Likewise! I would also love to speak with you about your… _situation_. Sometime after this immediate crisis is over, of course. According to what your Herald tells me,” he gave Maxwell a nod of acknowledgment as he released my hand, “you, too, are a victim of someone dabbling in terrible magical arts. I would like to help see to it that what happened to you doesn’t happen to anyone else. I’ve had about enough of world-altering disasters, and I’d be willing to wager you have, as well.

“But for now, I don’t want to waste your time…time that could be spent relaxing before the next catastrophe hits.” He waved his hand to shoo us. “I would suggest finding someplace out of this wonderful Fereldan weather and getting some rest. You are very much entitled to it, after what you’ve been through.”

“I will try, Dorian. And perhaps you should heed the same advice,” Maxwell replied, inclining his head.

At that, Maxwell and I continued on, and I breathed in a deep lungful of frigid air, letting it out slowly. Snowflakes stung my face as we walked, and when we finally reached his cabin, I gratefully ducked inside, pleasantly surprised to see his fireplace already crackling merrily. No doubt the servants had seen to it as soon as they heard of his arrival. He kicked the door shut behind him and ran a hand through his hair to clear it of snow, while I brushed it off from my shoulders.

“Please, go ahead and sit. Make yourself comfortable,” he said wearily, gesturing to the table. I quietly obeyed, taking the same place I had the last time we had talked and shared drinks. I watched as he deftly removed the scale mail coat he was wearing and unceremoniously tossed it atop the armor stand in the corner. He jerked the gauntlets from his hands with violent motions, throwing them onto the side table near the stand.

“I can’t do this, anymore, Tamsyn. I just…I _can’t_ …” he said at last, dragging out the chair across from me and practically falling into it. “Please…tell me after the Breach is closed, my part in this will be done at last…”

Gone was the noble eloquence from our previous private meeting. Now, his words were raw with fatigue and emotion, very nearly trembling as he spoke. The events at Redcliffe had taken their toll, and he was struggling to cope with what he had seen, that much was plain. He bowed his head as he put it in both his hands, his elbows propped atop the table.

“I’m sorry, Maxwell,” I said at length, “but it won’t. If anything, your part will only get bigger.”

At that, his hands formed claws in his hair, and he raked his fingertips through the dark brown locks. “I don’t understand. Why? Because of this… _thing?_ ” he held his Marked hand before him, practically snarling at the glowing gash in his palm.

“No. It’s deeper than that, now. Much deeper.”

His olivine eyes met mine, and I could see the pain in them, pain so deep it made _me_ hurt to look at him. He dropped his hand to the table with an audible _smack_.

“I saw…” he swallowed thickly, grimacing at the memories that were no doubt almost overwhelming him. “I saw…terrible things at Redcliffe. Horrible things. What little you told me in the tavern could never have prepared me for… _that_.” He said, his eyes focusing on the wood of the table. “I did what you said. I listened to Dorian. But Maker…there were so many times I wanted nothing more than to run…to shut my eyes and deny everything I saw as a dream. A nightmare.”

“There is no shame in feeling that way. What matters is the fact you didn’t give in. That you persevered in spite of it.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want this…I don’t _want_ the world to depend on me like this. I can’t take the weight. If one slip, one failure, results in _that_ …”

He fell silent, and my eyes drifted to where his Anchor hand lay. After a moment, I gestured for it. His brow furrowed, but he allowed me to take it in my own. I wrapped both of my hands around his, and even through my glove, I could feel the subtle hum of the Mark under my palm.

“You _can_ do this, Maxwell,” I said, giving him the best gentle smile I could. “You won’t fail. You know why?” I squeezed his hand reassuringly, “Call it fate, chance, the Maker, whatever…the powers-that-be decided the world needed _you_ right now. And that means you _will_ be the world’s savior and the Elder One’s doom, no matter what. Unless the Maker really does want to destroy his own world, you _can’t_ fail. We’ll get through this. Together.”

He searched my eyes for a moment before dropping his gaze again and chuckling slightly. “Are you sure about that?”

“As sure as I can be,” I said, letting go of his hand and leaning back in my chair. “But I’m not saying it isn’t going to get worse before it gets better.”

“Naturally,” he replied dryly, looking off for a moment and then glancing back at me. “What is it they say back in Ostwick? The sunrise is most beautiful after a stormy night?”

I nodded in agreement with such a proverb, “That sounds fairly accurate, yes.” Then, rising from my chair to leave him to his thoughts, I added, “Don’t worry, Maxwell. No matter how far away it seems, the dawn _will_ come.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Four days after the mages arrived in Haven, they were ready to make their attempt to close the Breach with the Herald.

The weather had thankfully cleared up during those days, and so the morning was beautiful and sunny, the only disturbance in the heavens being the glowing maw of the Breach itself. The atmosphere was crisp and clean, the sky above impossibly blue, and the wind barely there, only occasionally ruffling through fur and hair and turning cheeks pink with its icy bite.

Excitement permeated the air so thickly that it almost felt as though I had downed an energy drink in one go. I was outright jittery, and so was everyone else. Only, unlike them, I was jittery for an entirely different reason. _They_ were jittery because they wanted to see the Breach gone at last. _I_ was jittery because I knew that this was the last moment of peace we’d have before utter terror that night…

All training had been canceled, resulting in a much larger than usual number of people milling about the village. But while everybody else in town gossiped, visited friends, ate, drank, and were otherwise enjoying their time off, I was packing my bags. I spent my morning stuffing absolutely everything I owned into the leather satchel and backpack Harding had provided when I had first arrived. In the smaller satchel I put my personal hygiene tools and soap, potion vials and poultices, quill-and-ink, parchment, and the books Leliana and Josephine had given me. In the larger backpack, I tightly rolled up all of my casual clothing and shoved them inside, along with my spare blanket, plus the stack of clean washrags, my bandages, and the extra food rations I had left over. Unable to fit it in the bags, I refilled my waterskin with fresh water and hung it from my belt beside my sword. I wore my breastplate and all of my weapons, but as I donned them on top of my uniform, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was still vulnerable, and I began to wish I had been issued some extra armor – namely, a helmet.

I had just put my bags beside the door – to make them easier to grab when the assault came – when I heard shouting outside. Brow furrowed, I felt my heart begin to race, fluttering like a bird in a cage. Had something happened? Something I hadn’t anticipated?

Jogging outside and clambering up one of the watch posts, I saw them, and my mouth dropped open in awe.

_Holy…_

The Templars had arrived.

They came trotting through the snowy pass and around the walls like knights on parade, their horses snorting and blowing clouds of mist in the cold, hooves kicking up snow. Most of them wore helmets, the styles varied depending on their nation of origin and their rank, and their silvery armor shone blindingly bright in the sun. Some rode two to a horse, and in these cases, it appeared to be a warrior paired with a rogue for the mounts to better stand the weight. They were but two dozen hardened veterans, and yet they had all the visual impact of an army of hundreds.

And I suddenly felt like a giddy little girl at a Renaissance fair and seeing “knights” for the first time. True, there had already been Templars in Haven, and I saw them on a regular basis, usually in transit between the Chantry and the training grounds. But many of them merely wore their Chantry robes for errand work, and one or two here and there wasn’t nearly as impressive as a whole armored outfit of them.

I watched as Cullen was summoned out to meet them, and Cassandra went with him. Then, moments later, some mage fetched Fiona from where she stood near the trebuchets, and the former Grand Enchanter followed suit, hurrying out of the gates in a flurry of swirling robes.

_Uh, oh._

There was no way I was going to get in the middle of that mess. Knowing that the Commander and the Seeker were more than capable of handling the situation on their own, I resolved to stay out of it. Instead, I slipped from the watch post and began my own personal quest…something I had been thinking about for the past four nights. I might not have been able to warn about the impending attack, but I could try and make the Herald’s job easier.

I had less than twelve hours. I had to make it count.

My first destination was the Chantry. Not a few paces into the door, however, I was stopped by a familiar voice.

“Missus?”

I glanced to the right. There, Sean was sitting on a bench in the shadowed alcove, swinging his legs back and forth. It had been the first time I had seen him since the day his mother and Willem had been murdered. His face was immaculately clean, now, as were his clothes, and it appeared as though he’d been given a haircut, his auburn locks combed and straight instead of messy as they had been before the attack.

“Hey, Sean,” I said, smiling broadly at the boy as I made a hard right turn and headed straight for him like I had been all along. “How are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess,” he said, looking up at me with his big sapphire eyes. They were dimmer than they used to be, and I knew the weight of grief was still heavy on his small shoulders. “You, missus?”

I knelt in front of him. “I’m doing all right, Sean. Thank you very much for asking.”

He gave me a lopsided smile.

I smiled back and tweaked his loose pants leg a little. “Looks like the sisters have been taking good care of you.”

He nodded. “They’re nice. Mother Giselle’s like Grammama, only quieter, and she doesn’t hit me with a wooden spoon.”

My brows rose. “Your grandmother hit you with a spoon?”

“Only when I stole her cookies before she said I could have any,” he said guiltily.

“Oh, I see.”

He was quiet for a few moments, looking away briefly. Then, he said in a soft voice, “I miss Ma.”

My heart shattered into tiny pieces. “I know you do, Sean. I’m so sorry I…I couldn’t help her.” I forced back tears that were welling in my eyes. He had truly believed I could have saved her, and I felt so horrible for letting him down, even if he had been fed a lie.

“It’s okay,” he said, looking back up at me, “Mother Giselle said the hooded man tricked me.” He glanced away again, and the way he hung his head, the way his expression shifted to such a downcast mien, screamed that he was guilt-ridden for having so easily swallowed Butler’s story.

At that, I gently put my hands on his shoulders, struggling to control the emotion that threatened to spill out. “Sean, listen to me.” When he looked me in the face, seemingly puzzled, I continued, “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t ever think that it was your fault, okay? You were so brave. You went to get help, and you did _everything_ you could.”

His impossibly deep blue eyes stared into mine for a moment, and then he slid off the bench and into my arms, throwing his hands around my neck and hugging me with all the strength he could muster. I hugged him back, unable to keep a tear from leaking down my cheek, but wiping it away quickly so he wouldn’t see. I held him for several minutes, until he couldn’t squeeze me anymore, and then, when he finally pulled away, I grasped him by the shoulders again and looked straight into his eyes.

“Now, I want you to do something for me, Sean,” I said, demanding his attention.

“What’s that, missus?”

I swallowed. “I want you to stay in the Chantry today. There are some things that are going to happen…big things. Things you don’t need to be outside for. It’s going to be dangerous, and I don’t want you to get hurt. So stay here with the sisters, all right?”

He blinked at me. “The big hole in the sky’s gonna be closed up, innit?  Mother Giselle said the Herald was going to go today.”

“Mmhmm,” I said. “And there’s no telling what’s going to happen after that. So do me a big favor and stay here out of harm’s way, okay?”

He nodded emphatically.

“Good.” I stood and ruffled his hair. “I have some things I need to do, now, so I’ll see you around, all right, Sean?”

“All right, missus.”

And with that, he hopped away and ran past me, past the waiting Mother Giselle, and into one of the Chantry’s side rooms. As he disappeared, I turned my attention to her, who just so happened to be the person I came to the Chantry to see in the first place.

“It was good of you to speak with him,” she said quietly, glancing in the direction he had taken. “He has been feeling terrible guilt ever since his mother’s death. It is natural, of course. But I was hoping perhaps you could put his mind at ease, since you were the one he originally sought to aid him.”

I nodded. “I’m glad I finally saw him. I actually wanted to give him some space after the incident, but then after that…” I trailed off, lifting my hands and letting them drop against my thighs.

“I understand,” Mother Giselle said with a dip of her head. “Our work here in Haven never ends, and there is little time to think of anything outside our duties.”

“Speaking of duties,” I said, taking a breath and putting my plan into motion, “after the Breach is handled by the Herald, I was thinking perhaps you could host a special service for everyone in Haven? To give thanks to the Maker for our victory, and to Andraste for her Herald, of course. No doubt people will want to celebrate, _but_ ,” I paused a little for effect, “we should also remember how close we all came to losing everything to this disaster.”

Giselle cocked her head at me curiously, and for a moment I was afraid she might question me. But then, at last, she gave me a slow nod, replying, “That is a sound plan of action, my lady. I will think of a few passages to reflect upon, and after the Breach is sealed and everyone returns to the village, I will summon the citizenry to the Chantry.”

I smiled, “Very good, Mother Giselle, and thank you. I am eager to hear your service.”

“And I am eager to deliver it.”

With that, the both of us bade each other farewell and went our separate ways, she to her office and I to the Singing Maiden to advise Flissa to water down the ale extra tonight. My excuse? So the ale supply wouldn’t run out as quickly and there wouldn’t be hangovers for Adan to deal with in the morning.

I balled my fists as I walked, and I hoped against hope that this would work, even offering a prayer to the Maker. If I could just make sure the soldiers weren’t drunk off their asses and that most of the people would already be in the Chantry, then maybe the losses of life would be minimal. I was especially worried about the civilians, among who there were more children than just Sean. Many of them helped their mothers and fathers in their tasks for the Inquisition, functioning as couriers between their parents and their immediate superiors. It made me sick to my stomach to think of them dying to Corypheus’s forces. I had to do what I could to save them.

Even if it meant changing the story a little bit.

\------------------------------------------------------

The moment of truth came far too soon for my liking.

I stood with Cullen, watching the Breach swirl slowly in the distance. Maxwell had departed an hour prior with Cassandra, Solas, and the mages, including Fiona. The rest of us back at the village held our breath as we waited, watching and praying for the Herald’s imminent success. Leliana, Josephine, and Mother Giselle all observed from above the gatehouse, while Cullen and I stood outside the gates near the training field.

Cullen had put his soldiers on high alert, in case there was fallout from the closure…or if the endeavor was completely unsuccessful and the magical activity resulted in an unexpected effect. As such, archers were grouped on the towers, soldiers stood guard at the gates, and all the Templars in the settlement were on stand-by, as well as healers from the ranks of the Inquisition’s mages. The Commander himself had donned full battle regalia, his complete armor not unlike that of his incarnation in _Heroes of Dragon Age_ – a game Abigail had once let me watch her play on her phone; he wore plated gauntlets now, full greaves strapped over his boots, and layered tassets hung from his belt. He also sported his lion helm, a piece more magnificent in person that it had been in the game trailers. The fanged maw of the lion shadowed his face, but such shadows made his fiery amber gaze all the more intense as it reflected the light from the nearby braziers.

Barris and Rylen stood beside us, both fully armored as well. The former I had learned to distinguish from the rest of his comrades by the distinct angular structure of the wings on his helmet. His helm was fashioned like the ones in Kirkwall, but the wings were taller, their tips bent inwards rather sharply. He was also one of only three who preferred a tower shield to the smaller heater shields. It was on his tower shield that Barris leaned casually as he waited, the frame of the steel-reinforced wood flickering green with every faint pulse of the Breach.

It was early evening, the sun just having dipped behind a mountain, resulting in a pinkish-orange sky that was quickly darkening into a muddy mauve hue. All of us puffed out visible clouds of mist with every breath, so that we all looked rather like steaming tea kettles. The forest around us had fallen silent, and the noise of the village had quieted to a low hum as the people of Haven glued their eyes to the sky.

And then, it happened.

Far in the distance, where the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes lay, a brilliant burst of green shot like a rocket towards the Breach, spiraling upward in a rope of magic from Maxwell’s Anchor as he connected with the hole in the Veil. An audible gasp rippled through the spectators, including myself. There was a bright pulse from the Breach, then another, and then…

A sound like a whipcrack resonated around the mountains, the whole sky seemed to shudder above us, and then the glowing maw of the Breach finally winked out, leaving only the yet-swirling cloud cover behind.

Another collective gasp and then a roar erupted from the rapt audience, the people cheering their joy to the heavens. They clapped, whooped, and hollered, the soldiers and Templars pounding their shields and pumping their fists in the air in victory. Some fell to their knees in thankful prayer, others jumped on their comrades and hugged them fiercely. I couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen murmured, tilting his helmet back to get a better view of the healing sky, “It really worked!”

But while everyone else breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the danger was finally over, I knew it had only just begun…


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of blood mentioned in this chapter, just as a fair warning.

Everyone was drinking. _Everyone_. No one had bothered to wait until Maxwell and the others returned from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The companions, the mages, the Templars, the servants, the messengers, the soldiers, the scouts, and the Chantry sisters…everyone in the village caroused, laughed, danced and sang in celebration of the Herald’s success. Maryden struck up merry tunes on her lute while nobles, commoners, and merchants alike swung each other arm in arm before the fires and braziers, not a single person desiring to stay indoors or to keep to themselves this night. Those who weren’t dancing craned their necks up at the heavens in wonder as the clouds that had been gathered by the Breach’s powerful vortex slowly but surely dissipated into nothingness, leaving the whole sky a darkening purple lit only by glittering stars and the emerging moons. It was the first time in months they had seen the night sky without that eerie glow looming overhead.

I tried to join them and enjoy the merriment while I could – to soak up the last bit of happiness before disaster struck. But while joy and relief filled their hearts, mine was filled solely with dread. I was the only soul there unable to share in their mirth, and instead of being swept up in the revelry, I found myself almost smothered by the sea of bodies around me. The sheer number of people in the streets was suffocating. All the faces I knew had vanished in the crowd, leaving me feeling at the mercy of the strangers who merrily plied me with drinks and pulled and tugged at me to dance with them. Every time I refused a tankard, whoever offered it gawked at me as if I had three heads, and those with whom I declined to dance looked terribly offended.

Desperate to escape the jostling, boisterous crowd, I pushed for the upper tier of the village, uncaring as to who saw me beating such a hasty retreat. When I finally made it to the overlook near Leliana’s tent, I was almost gasping for breath. The nigh overwhelming smells, the incessant noise, and the constant movement – it was enough to make me nauseous, and the anxiety slowly building up inside did nothing to help.

I inhaled a great lungful of cold winter air and let it out slowly, my eyes wandering over the raucous crowd below. Over near the gates, I saw where the advisors were gathered to greet the Herald as soon as he returned. Cullen, his helm now under his arm, had long dismissed the Templars and soldiers after Strider had sprinted back to confirm the Herald’s success and to report the absence of demon retaliation. Barris lingered with them, he too unhelmeted, and chatting with the other three. Rylen I saw occasionally weaving in and out of the mass of people, clapping soldiers on the back and smiling broadly. They all looked so much happier than I had yet seen them. To know that happiness was about to be stolen from them in a terrifying way…

I wondered if anyone had noticed that I now had my pack secured to my back and my satchel slung across my body, cinched tight enough that it wouldn’t flop about if I had to fight. I wondered if they noticed that I couldn’t keep my eyes off of the mountains in the distance. If they had, no one had said a word to me about it, instead preferring to lose themselves in the celebration. It seemed Flissa had heeded my words, as no one was falling-down drunk yet. But they were still trying their damned best to get there.

Then, suddenly, the gates opened, and Maxwell and his party finally returned, broad smiles on all their faces. They were met with an even louder roar from the crowd, the sea of villagers moving towards the gates to swarm their Herald with thanks and congratulations. The people lifted him up on their shoulders, even as armored as he was, cheering and singing his praises, laughing and crying. I wondered if he realized now just how much he meant to them. That whether he believed it or not, he _was_ their Herald of Andraste, and now would forever be such…

But despite the smile that tugged at my lips, my heart began to beat a little faster, and I could feel a cold sweat breaking out on my arms. My eyes kept flicking back to the mountains, over the frozen lake, my breath quickening. Maxwell was back, and so it wouldn’t be long, now.

_Come on, Giselle, come on…ring the damned bell…_

“Not enjoying the celebration?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. The voice belonged to Lea, who was looking at me with a bit of a puzzled expression before my reaction caused her reflective green eyes to widen. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!”

“It’s okay!” I shook my head, offering a nervous smile in response as I lifted my hands to reassure her. “It’s okay, I’m just…a little anxious, is all. I don’t really like crowds all that well.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly…

“Oh,” she said, her gaze briefly flicking to the celebrants before returning to mine. “I saw you push your way out of all of it. I thought someone might have said something to you. I know not everyone is happy you’re here, even if you really did foretell the Breach’s closure. I was going to ask you if everything was all right.”

I took in a trembling breath and nodded. “It’s fine, thank you, Lea. And I really do appreciate you coming to check up on me. You’re a good friend.”

At that, she positively beamed. But before she could say anything more, the Chantry bell began to ring at last, summoning the people for Giselle’s service. Its rich tones echoed around the village and the mountains, the sound strangely comforting, even when I knew it would never ring again.

“Oh, that’s the bell for prayers,” Lea observed, glancing upwards at the belltower. “Are you going to join?”

I cleared my throat. “Ah…I might. But I’ll let everyone else get a chance at a good seat first.”

Lea smiled. “All right. I hope to see you there. Mother Giselle gives lovely sermons.”

She then turned and made her way to the Chantry, much to my relief, and I let out a shaky sigh. After she disappeared within, I looked back towards the crowd. Many of the people began walking towards the upper tier upon hearing the bell, too, including the companions and advisors, who now surrounded Maxwell. Some of the citizens, however, were ignoring the summons, and my stomach knotted up. _Shit…_

My anxiety increasing tenfold, I found myself bouncing on the balls of my feet in anticipation as I watched the painfully-slow crowd finally reach the Chantry. _Come on…come on…hurry up…_

As the people began to file within, still laughing and chatting away, another shadow neared me from my left, and I glanced in that direction to see Chancellor Roderick approaching me, a cross between a sneer and a snarl plastered to his face. Great. Just what I needed.

“I hear this particular service is partially _your_ doing,” he said as he stopped a few paces from me, pulling his hands behind his back. He addressed me with his usual hauteur, which grated on my nerves so badly I wanted to deck him then and there. “I wouldn’t have figured you for a devout Andrastian, considering your perpetuation of blasphemous lies.”

I narrowed my eyes. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“Or, perhaps,” he added, his tone one of false musing, “you have indeed won a victory here and are reveling in the fact you can now manipulate the Chantry to your own whims, hmm? If so, then congratulations are apparently in order,” he finished bitterly.

“You’ll never get it, will you, Chancellor?” I said with a loud sigh of irritation.

He opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped, his firelit eyes glittering as they drifted upwards over my shoulder.

“Is the Chancellor provoking you again?”

Cullen’s stern voice came from behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that beside him stood Cassandra and the Herald. A little farther back were Josephine and Leliana. All of them had their eyes fixed on Roderick, a few with raised brows. Past them I could see more people trickling into the Chantry, slowly but surely…

“No,” I answered simply, giving the Chancellor a pointed look as I turned back towards him. “Not. At. All.”

He smirked at me, but a rush of ebon wings abruptly wiped it off his face as a raven soared directly over both his head and mine, landing on Leliana’s waiting arm. She wasted no time in removing the note from the bird’s leg, and it flew off immediately, cawing loudly. We all watched curiously as the Nightingale’s blue gaze swept over the parchment, and she glanced to Cullen. “The scouts are pulling back, Commander. I’m not going to send them out again until we know-”

Her voice died in her throat as another bell rang in the distance, and all eyes heads turned towards it; unlike that of the Chantry, its sound was tinny and erratic, as though whoever was yanking on its cord was an absolute madman. I recognized it immediately as the village alarm bell. Its shrill peals echoed throughout the settlement and were answered by screams of panic from the people remaining in the town proper, many of whom were still too far away from the Chantry and began to scramble for the closest shelter. I involuntarily clutched at my hat and hissed in a breath. _Shit! No!_

“That’s one of the watch guards,” Cullen observed aloud, drawing nearer to the edge of the overlook.  Then, suddenly, he spun on his heel, his face a flinty mask as he marched past us, eyes alight with fire. “Maker’s breath, what now? _To arms!_ ” he bellowed, and I felt it vibrate in my bones as he summoned his soldiers with the power of his voice alone. The soldiers weren’t the only ones who heard it, either; the volume of noise had increased from the direction of the Chantry, and I could see people peeking out of the doors to get a better view, those who had yet to make it inside freezing in their tracks with eyes wide like startled deer.

Leliana, Josephine, and Maxwell all exchanged looks of surprise and concern as the Commander strode quickly past them and continued his summons, the Herald silently chasing after. The companions and the Bull’s Chargers had gathered together at the sound of the alarm, too, and they gave each other puzzled shrugs before following in Maxwell’s wake. I could hear them expressing their confusion and incredulity as they went, but I couldn’t make out the words.

“Someone get the rest of the civilians in the Chantry.” My voice trembled with my uncertainty as it came out. I was torn between doing it myself and pursuing Cullen…

“Tamsyn?” Josephine’s voice was tentative.

“What in the Maker’s name is going on here?” Roderick demanded.

“ _I said get the rest of the civilians in the Chantry!_ ” I snapped, sick of his challenges. At that, his indignant expression melted into what appeared to be actual worry, and he hesitated for only a moment before turning and heading into the village proper.

“Tamsyn, what’s going on?” Leliana inquired, her brow furrowed heavily under the shadow of her hood as she squinted at me.

Glancing between the other two advisors, I shook my head, “There’s no time to explain. Please, you have to trust me…just make sure the civilians get into the Chantry and stay there!”

At that, I began to run through the village towards the entrance. Leliana may have heeded my words – I didn’t know for sure because I didn’t look back – but Josephine followed me, her slippered feet almost soundless in the dirt behind me. “Tamsyn, please, what is happening? What kind of danger is this?”

I didn’t answer as a group of soldiers rushed to meet us from the direction of the Singing Maiden, hands on their swords. “We thought we heard shouting, and…and there’s the alarm! What’s going on?”

I stopped in my tracks just long enough to issue orders of my own, Josephine nearly running right into me. “Hurry! Muster every soldier, scout, mage, and Templar who hasn’t heard the call to arms and meet the Commander at the gates. Go, _go_!” I knew that was Cullen’s rightful command to give, not mine, but there was no time for protocol. Not now.

My heart pounded in my chest so hard I thought it might crack my sternum as I approached the already large group quickly coalescing at the gates – the Herald and his comrades, the Chargers, Rylen, Barris and his Templars, Fiona and a few of her battlemages, and more and more soldiers and scouts answering the summons, Delia and Strider among them. Cullen was running his free hand through his hair, apparently having just finished listening to the breathless watch guard before him give his report on the unfolding crisis.

“Commander!” Josephine called, rushing past me with silks rustling. No doubt she felt she could stop the imminent conflict with her words. And against any _normal_ foe, she might have succeeded.

“There’s a massive force approaching,” he said, shaking his head at her as he pointed into the distance, “the bulk of it is over the mountain. I can’t get a set number, but it could be anywhere from hundreds to a thousand.”

“Under whose banner?”

“None,” Cullen answered grimly, although his sharp gaze was fixed on _me_ as he said the word, not the Ambassador…

“None?”

I glanced towards the mountains, my heart leaping into my throat as I finally saw it: the first pinprick of torchlight like a dancing firefly on the mountain ahead. And then another. And then two more. And then _ten_ more.

“Tamsyn, who is our attacker?” Cullen queried. “Do you know?”

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, unable to keep from chuckling mirthlessly at how _no one_ had anticipated this sort of thing, even out of the foe who had created the Breach in the first place. “Think, Commander. Who just had his mages and many of his tools for spreading red lyrium jerked out from under him…whose hole in the Fade is permanently closed now, too. Who do you _think_ would react with this kind of force?”

“The Elder One,” Maxwell breathed as more soldiers, Templars, and mages rallied around us, oblivious as to what the Herald was talking about. But it wouldn’t be long before they understood all too well.

“But he couldn’t have had time…” Josephine protested. Although, one look back at the mountains confirmed that yes, he indeed had the time. The peaks were now so full of torches, they appeared as though they were laced with Christmas lights.

Suddenly, a strong hand seized my shoulder, and I whirled back to see Cullen’s blazing golden eyes only inches from mine, now, our noses almost touching. His gaze was unblinking as he growled darkly, “You _knew_ …”

I swallowed. The low rumble that vibrated through me was fueled by anger, but in his words I also heard a note of pain…pain at what I knew he felt was betrayal. Pain that was reflected in the intensity of his amber stare.

“Yes, I did,” I confessed, my voice wavering. Had Cullen’s bulk not completely blocked my view of both Maxwell and Josephine, I would have seen both their mouths drop open as they realized this impending attack wasn’t a surprise for me as it was for them.

“How many are there?” Cullen demanded, his grip downright painful even through the thick layers of my jacket.

“A lot.” It was the truth, at least, but I knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with it.

“ _Tamsyn!_ ” he shook me fiercely, his expression betraying his desperation. “How. _Many_?” he repeated firmly. “I need to know, _now!_ ”

My answer was quiet as I let my eyes drift away. “More than you could ever have prepared for, Commander.”

Another growl as he released me.

_Bang!_

An explosion beyond the gates. _Cole_. It was unmistakably his voice that followed, begging for entry. As Maxwell rushed forth to investigate, blessedly drawing Cullen away from me, I took advantage of the distraction and turned to Josephine. “Ambassador, get to the Chantry, quick! Take anyone still hiding in their homes with you! There’s no time to waste! Gather anything and everything of importance!”

“But…”

“ _Please!”_ I begged. Her hazel eyes were wide and full of emotions as they searched mine, but she finally nodded, turning and running back up the steps behind us in a swirl of blue and gold. At that, I finally followed Cullen and Maxwell out of the gates to see Cole pointing at the far ridge, surrounded by the bodies of the Venatori advance party he had just massacred…

And there, standing overlooking the valley, was the Elder One and Samson…

… _and_ Calpernia.

My mouth fell open in utter shock. _No…no!_

Newton’s Third Law came to mind, loud and clear: _“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”_ We had saved both mages and Templars. Now both Venatori _and_ Red Templars were attacking Haven. All because I decided to change course from the usual story.

I tried to tell them…

“This isn’t supposed to be like this!” I said, unable to keep my silence, the enemy army now flooding through the valley ahead of us. It would be upon us in minutes. “Not both of them!” I glanced to Cullen, “This is bad…there will be corrupted Red Templars _and_ Tevinter mages to deal with here.”

“Cullen?” Maxwell glanced to the Commander, who jammed his lion helm back on and wiggled it briefly to adjust the fit as he returned his eyes to the enemy.

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to survive this, we must be the ones in control of the battle. Which means we _must_ strike the first blow.” Cullen indicated the pair of trebuchets that now stood tall and proud outside the walls, the mighty engines that would taste combat only once in their short lives. Following the Commander’s gaze, Maxwell’s lips pressed together and he nodded once in understanding. He removed his own plain helm from where it was lashed to his belt and settled it on his head, and then drew the sword at his hip.

Briefly, Cullen moved closer to me and spoke in a deadly tone as he shrugged his shield onto his arm, his shadowed amber eyes like smoldering embers as they met mine. “When this is over, you and I _will_ have words.”

 _I have no doubt, Commander,_ I thought.

Then, drawing his sword from its scabbard with the long and ominous scrape of metal, Cullen bellowed at his men a string of orders that rang against the stone walls with the timbre of his voice.

“Trebuchet contingents forward! Load and fire at will!”

“ _Ser!_ ” They sprinted forth, scrambling past Maxwell and me to begin loading the siege engines.

“The rest of you, stay with the Herald and guard the trebuchets! Fortify and watch for advance forces!”

“ _Yes, Ser!_ ”

“Archers, fire at will at any foe in range!”

“ _Ready, Ser!_ ” came the answering cry from the walls.

“Mages!” he turned to Fiona, who had mounted the walls with her fellow spellcasters, “You have free sanction to engage the enemy with whatever spells you have at your disposal!”

“ _At your command!_ ”

“Templars, focus-target any mages but otherwise stay on the defensive!”

“As you will, Commander!” Barris responded nearby as he gathered his fellow warriors together, securing his helmet and drawing his own blade.

And then, tall and proud, Cullen raised his sword aloft and shouted: “Inquisition…with the Herald! _For your lives, for all of us!”_

An answering roar erupted from the soldiers at Cullen’s rallying cry, but my voice was not among them. There was no heroic music in the background to inspire courage, no autosave to go back to if I made a mistake. The only drumming I could hear was that of my own heart, and the clattering beat of swords on shields as the men and women around me worked themselves into a battle frenzy.

My heart skipped a beat, and my breathing seemed unnaturally loud. This was real. Too real. People would die here. Now. And I might be among them before it was all said and done.

The others surged forward with an earsplitting war cry, but I turned against the tide and ran through the village gates again. It was not to retreat, however, even though part of me was screaming for me to get my ass to the Chantry with Josephine before I was killed while being stupid. I thought of Willem, who died so that I might live, and something powerful welled up deep inside, flowing through my veins like liquid fire until my fear ebbed almost completely away; I’d be damned if I would sit idly by while more brave men and women gave their lives so that others like me would survive.

No, I would stand and fight with them. I had never before in my life been in such a situation – forced to kill or be killed, and my already nauseous stomach flopped like a fish inside me. Yet, gritting my teeth so tightly they hurt, I drew my bow from its sheath on my back and clambered up a watchtower alongside Sera, who seemed rather surprised to see me when I emerged on the platform next to her. I knelt behind the top of the palisade where the tower butted against it, nodding to her in acknowledgment.

“You fightin’ with us, Weirdy?”

“You damned right I am,” I said grimly, pulling an arrow from my quiver and knocking it. I only had thirty…I had to make them count.

As the torches grew ever nearer and continued multiplying in number on the far slopes, Maxwell shouted orders to the companions who had come out to support in the melee, Blackwall and Cassandra creating a choke point on the path to the stables alongside Rylen and a few of the Templars. The Herald, Cullen, and Barris created another one closer to the first trebuchet, the soldiers at their backs.

“Stay here in case they break through!” I heard Iron Bull shout to the Chargers behind the gates, before he ran to join Maxwell, his massive axe in hand.

“You got it, Chief!”

Sweeping my eyes over the storm of activity, I saw where Varric had taken up a position near the gates, leveling Bianca. Dorian, Vivienne, and Solas all stood nearby, their staves humming with magic as they prepared themselves to provide support from afar. Cole hovered in the background, daggers at the ready, already coated in the blood of the Venatori. On platforms lining the interior of the wooden palisade, alongside the archers, were Fiona and her mages, their hands and staves also primed with magic to be unleashed as soon as the first foes revealed themselves. The air was alive with anticipation, and it seemed the whole world held its breath.

It didn’t take long. The soldiers were scrambling to load the trebuchets with stones, dousing the rocks in oil and setting them alight, when the vanguard of the Red Templars finally arrived. The corrupted warriors, ridden with pulsing red crystals punching through their armor like twisted branches, emerged from over the snowbanks around the lake in a wave of silver and crimson.

“Hold!” Rylen cried to the soldiers around him, urging them to stay defensive and stand their ground, even as a few backed up a step or two.

“Fire!” one of the archers yelled on the walls.

My ears were filled with the _twang_ of bowstrings and the subsequent whistle of arrows streaking through the air as the marksmen on the walls let loose their volley and knocked again. Bianca’s distinct repeating song could be heard underneath the high screech as Varric released his signature rhyming triplet.

_Now…_

I rose over the palisade, Strider’s words swimming to the forefront of my thoughts.

_Take a breath, hold, and fire on your exhale._

My eye quickly latched onto a Red Templar charging around one of the giant pavises in front of the trebuchet, only a sword in hand – no shield. Drawing tight to my cheekbone, I held my breath, aimed, and let loose, expecting to miss by a mile…

…but to my great surprise, my arrow found its mark in his shoulder with a faint, dull _thud_ , sending the man reeling on impact. Rylen then leaped to take advantage of the wound, sword slicing the foe’s head from his shoulders and ending him in an instant, spraying tainted blood in the snow.

I blinked. That was it. If I could just do enough damage to give the soldiers an edge…

Filled with determination, I knocked again while searching for another target. Unfortunately, the arrows – even as many as there were constantly screaming through the air now – did little damage against most of the warriors that were yet converging on the village. Mixed in with the Red Templars were Venatori brutes with massive tower shields, advancing almost unchecked as our arrows embedded themselves harmlessly in wood and thick armor.

But then the mages joined the fray.

Fireballs sizzled through the air all around us, exploding into the vanguard and sending bodies flying, along with clods of snow and dirt. Shimmering ice manifested beneath the feet of the invaders as Vivienne unleashed her own power in the form of potent ice mines that threw the stunned enemies into the air with the strength of their explosions. More arrows whistled overhead, finding their marks in the now vulnerable enemies, and the soldiers rushed to finish the job before the warriors returned to their feet, stabbing brutally through joints and into exposed necks. A gladiator – whose naked leg was unprotected as he lay on his back – was my next target, and I fired…

…only to hit him in the throat instead as he launched himself upwards to try and stand.

_Whoom!_

The first trebuchet finally let loose its load with a mechanical rattle and a massive rush of air, the flaming projectile slung by the arm and arcing mid-flight, disappearing beyond the treeline in the distance. It was a magnificent and awe-inspiring sight to see, but the soldiers’ cheers of success were quickly drowned out by the cries of the enemies and the incessant clashing of steel on steel; those who had managed to survive the mages’ onslaught and the marksmen’s rain of arrows now fully engaged the defenders on the ground, swarming the area before the gates.

_Whoom!_

The second, southern trebuchet loosed its burden, another stone soaring like a meteor through the twilight sky.

“Another wave!” someone yelled in warning, almost unheard for the roar of battle.

The marksmen and mages focused their attention on the fresh wave of combatants clearing the snowbanks, unable to help those fighting the surviving Red Templars and Venatori without subjecting them to friendly fire. I quickly knocked another arrow to help, but even as I drew and shot into the new line of enemies that had been exposed, I couldn’t help but let my eyes stray to the chaotic fight below.

As arrows, fireballs, and now arcs of lightning soared over them, our own warriors pushed the enemies back, little by little, inch by inch. Blackwall and Cassandra made short work of anyone attempting to skirt around the forge, their shields bashing heads as much as their weapons skewered through torsos. Someone had even let loose the few war dogs we had from the kennels, and they, too, joined the battle. Darting around the rocks, the canines leapt at throats and tore at any exposed flesh, frenzied by the scent of blood and flame.

Maxwell and Iron Bull stood back-to-back, the pair fighting a circle of Venatori warriors that had managed to surround them. Bursts of purple, telltale signs of Dorian’s magics, glimmered ominously among the slain nearby, reviving the bodies and turning them against the Inquisition’s enemies. Solas, too, was putting his magic to good use, manipulating the very rocks and even warping the Veil itself around the battlefield to pummel the Red Templars into a pulp. And flitting between them all like a shadow blinking in and out of existence was Cole, all flashing daggers as he was first here, then there, stabbing into every weakness he could find and spraying the snow with fresh blood.

Closer to the near trebuchet, Rylen, Barris, and Cullen dueled mostly-human Red Templars as the soldiers around them battled more gladiators and brutish thugs. The three men fought faster almost than the brain could comprehend, blades whirring in silvery arcs and trailing ribbons of scarlet with each strike. It was then I suddenly recalled Cullen’s snippet of dialogue mentioning that Templars were among the best warriors in the world. And if I ever doubted his words before, I doubted no more.

They were absolute hellcats, fighting with power and fury behind every blow and parry, but their ferocity was focused to a laser precision. No energy was wasted. No strike was in vain. They almost appeared to dance below us, moving in tandem as if giving each other unspoken instruction. It was mesmerizing to watch, if gruesome, the snow beneath their feet turning crimson with the blood of their foes as the enemies fell, one by one.

“Look out!”

Before I could react on my own, Sera shoved me down behind the cover of the palisade. A tattoo of hollow _thunks_ resounded against the wood adjacent to our heads as a volley of arrows from the Venatori embedded itself into the wall. Unfortunately, some of our own weren’t so quick. There was a chorus of death cries as several of the archers and mages dropped from the walls, struck by the enemy’s answering barrage.

“ _Shit!_ ” I cursed. This wasn’t good…

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, you pissbags!” Sera screeched, immediately returning to knocking and firing at lightning speed.

As I peeked back over the palisade, I saw the enemy numbers growing with frightening rapidity as more and more Venatori and Red Templars began to flood over the snowbanks. I realized that Sera had the right of it; abandoning accuracy for speed, I decided to start drawing and firing without picking a target first, knowing from the sheer density of the throng charging for the settlement that I was going to hit at least _something_. But now that the enemy was answering with its own archers, I was forced to duck behind the palisade after every shot, which still slowed me considerably. We needed more arrows in the air, and fast.

The mages, erecting wards now, seemed to realize this need for more firepower, and that was exactly what they provided. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as electricity flowed from their fingertips, crackling through the air and discharging amongst the enemy lines. There, it bounced between the invaders, resulting in bloodcurdling screams as those struck by the combined lightning spells were instantly electrocuted. And yet the foes still kept coming, the deaths of their comrades seeming to only embolden the survivors…

 _Whoom!_ the north trebuchet fired again. The smell of burning oil stung my nostrils, even from this distance.

And then came the spellbinders.

Their protective magical shields washed over the new ranks, nullifying the arrows that rained down upon the enemy by causing them to clatter harmlessly away. Fireballs and spikes of ice launched from the walls dissipated to nothing upon impact, the might of the Tevinter mages effectively rendering all our efforts useless as the next wave of attackers rushed the trebuchets.

“ _Templars!_ ” came Barris’s call.

I had yet to see the signature abilities of a southern Thedosian Templar being put to practice. But now, I had a front-row seat. Breaking from melee as quickly as possible, our Templars converged one by one on the Tevinter spellbinders, seeking them out like bloodhounds on the scent. They effectively confronted the mages in pairs, the spellbinder nearest the north trebuchet surrounded first. From one Templar’s sword came a brief flash of white-gold, and of a sudden, everything magical about the Tevinter went kaput – their spellbook dropped to the ground, the magic of their staff abruptly winked out, and their personal ward vanished like someone had flipped a switch. Before the mage could even react, a second Templar ran them through to the hilt. This pattern continued at astonishing speed with the other spellbinders, swiftly weakening the protections on the enemies, until suddenly, a flood of pale blue light washed outwards from Ser Barris’s armored form, and the scintillating wards broke apart in a shower of sparks.

“Push them back!”

A roar erupted from the soldiers as they surged forward to meet the unprotected new line, which almost drowned out the hoarse shouts from the Herald for the companions to follow him. The southern trebuchet had ceased firing.

_Oh, shit…here it comes…_

Steeling myself, I redoubled my efforts, the repetitive motion of drawing and firing my bow becoming rhythmic as I emptied my quiver into our foes. I had no idea if I was helping anymore, but I knew that a retreat was imminent, and my bow would no longer be of use anyway. Cullen and Rylen rallied the soldiers, charging into the fray, their blades a blur. Slowly but surely, the wave of attackers seemed to ebb, the half-changed Red Templars and the Venatori quickly put to the sword by the concentrated rage of the Inquisition, though not without cost. As the men moved forward, I saw the bodies of several of our own among the dead of the enemy, now, and even though their faces were none I recognized, my heart twisted in my chest.

Though I knew only minutes were passing, it felt like hours as the battle raged on, Venatori marksmen and Templar snipers cornered against the rocks, lyrium-laced warriors and leather-clad gladiators sliced to ribbons by our soldiers. Just when the last of this wave of attackers was defeated, there was another _whoom!_ as the arm of the southern trebuchet swung once again...

…and everyone watched, open-mouthed, as the arc of the flaming projectile struck the far mountainside.

The avalanche.

It broke with an ominous crack, thundering down the slopes at devastating speed, snuffing out the torches of the continuous flow of enemies that yet streamed through the passes. The screams of the dying could be heard echoing even over the roar of the rocky torrent, and as their cries reached the ears of the defenders, answering cheers of victory swept through the soldiers in the field and on the walls, nearly deafening me.

But I did not cheer with them. I swallowed thickly, my tongue dry, my eyes riveted on the sky as an ominous shape suddenly came into view high above, approaching at an astonishingly fast clip on torn, bat-like wings that grew larger and larger…

“Everyone off the walls!” I screamed.

No sooner than the words had left my mouth, Corypheus’s dragon swooped out of the sky towards us, unleashing a stream of scarlet fire from its terrible gaping maw. It struck the southern trebuchet first, splinters and soldiers flying as the siege machine was blasted into matchsticks. It didn’t close its jaws as it then veered for the town, spilling its terrible flame onto the defenders on the walls before they could dive for cover. Inhuman howls came from those struck by the dragonfire as the palisade _exploded_ , sending sharpened wood flying into buildings and bodies into the streets below.

The cheers immediately gave way to screams of terror. In an instant, Cullen almost completely lost control of his troops, the archers and mages scrambling from the walls for shelter from the dragon that completely changed the tide of battle. No longer were we the ones with an advantage. The Elder One had decided to move in for a checkmate…by wiping the pawns off the board.

“Shite! Frigging _shite!_ ” Sera cursed, an expression of utter panic writ on her features, “What do we do now?”

“Get in the Chantry with everyone else you can grab!” I yelled, pushing her towards the ladder, “I don’t care how fucking cramped it is in there, tell them to _make room!_ ”

“Right, ‘cause stone! Got it!”

I quickly descended after her, scrambling for the gates to reach Cullen. Before I could even take two steps, though, Corypheus’s dragon made another pass, unleashing a second stream of red-lyrium-laced flame upon the town. I threw myself out of the way of the searing and crackling blast, crashing to the ground where I was nearly trampled by the stampede of retreating soldiers now pouring in through the gates. If someone hadn’t shoved their way towards me and jerked me to my feet, I might very well have been crushed under the tide.

“You all right there?” Krem asked loudly, eyes wide in his helm.

“I’m fine!” I yelled over the din of the withdrawing men.

Forcing myself to focus, I pushed past the soldiers to where Cullen was recalling all the troops back, my shoulders struck by pauldrons and shields all the while and nearly knocking me down again; I’d have bruises for sure. Over the Commander’s barking orders, I could hear the screams of the horses in the stables as they caught fire…

“Move it, move it!”

Maxwell and his comrades sprinted through Haven’s doors to bring up the rear, then, and Cullen and Rylen both hauled them shut behind the company with a heavy _clang_. The Herald bent forward, hands on his knees as he gasped for air, and many of the other companions were in the same shape, sweating and red-faced.

But before anyone could catch their breath, the dragon made yet another pass, blasting into the palisade above us and showering flaming wood everywhere. We plastered ourselves to the stone walls of the gates to avoid being hit by the debris, Cullen jerking me by the arm and behind his shield to cover us both from the hail of fiery splinters.

“Tamsyn, what in the Maker’s holy _name_ …” he cursed gruffly, his grip hard on my wrist as we knelt in the dirt. I was so close to him, I could smell leather and sweat and something woodsy.

I met his eyes, chuckling breathlessly. “I fucking _told you_ it was more than you could prepare for, didn’t I?”


	23. Chapter 23

The instant the splinters ceased pelting Cullen’s shield with metallic _pings_ , he quickly lowered it and hauled me back to my feet in one fluid movement, his armor rattling. “We need to fall back to the Chantry! It’s the only thing that will stand against…” he shouted, but stopped briefly as his narrowed gaze followed the shrieking dragon flapping overhead, “that… _beast!_ ”

“That’s what I’ve been _trying_ to tell everyone ever since this began!” I yelled over the noise; we could barely make ourselves heard for the sound of the houses falling apart and the din of the soldiers. I briefly wondered if anyone would bother giving me credit for huddling the people in the one place that could withstand a dragon’s breath before the dragon itself ever made its grand entrance…

Maxwell pointed towards the village’s heart. “Go! Get the soldiers to the Chantry, and we’ll cover your retreat!”

Cullen shook his head, the curvature of his helmet flashing in the firelight. “I stand with you, Herald. Let’s make them work for every inch!” Then, drawing his sword again, he bellowed to his men, “ _Retreat to the Chantry!_ ”

His command was followed by a chorus of “ _Retreat to the Chantry! Retreat!_ ” echoing throughout the settlement as the word was spread like wildfire from those troops nearest us. Many of the soldiers already appeared to be fleeing in that general direction anyway, but there were others who were yet attempting to reorganize themselves in the streets, forming in groups with what were likely higher-ranking officers. Upon hearing Cullen’s order, though, they broke apart, falling back bit by bit as they headed for the already full-to-bursting Chantry. I honestly didn’t know how so many people were going to fit in that place, or whether or not they had room for both the civilians and Cullen’s troops, too, but at that point, I really didn’t care if they just started stuffing everyone in the stairwell to the dungeon – I knew they wouldn’t be staying there very long…

As we moved back up the first set of village stairs, watching for signs of the enemy, I glanced skyward; Corypheus’s dragon seemed to be satisfied with the chaos it had caused, circling around the far peak like some giant half-dead vulture. A third of Haven was now on fire thanks to that damned thing, the flames jumping from roof to roof at astonishing speed and consuming the buildings like dry tinder. My cabin, and that of the Herald, was already consumed in an inferno. The conflagration filled the air with smoke and embers, and my lungs and eyes already burned from it. An astonishing amount of heat emanated from the blaze…so much that I was sweating in my jacket, even with it being so cold out.

We began falling back ourselves, making sure no one was left in front of us to be picked off by the advancing forces, and there was such a lull in the fighting that I thought perhaps there might have been a change in tactics. But then, I caught sight of a mountain of red crystals clambering over the burning palisade wall, followed by a series of massive fireballs blasting apart more of the splintered wood to make a wider point of entry. Even more struck the gates, rattling the massive doors on their hinges, tongues of flame licking between them and underneath. I knew, then, that the fight was far from over. In all actuality, it had only just begun…

The waves we had fought off before, as formidable as they had been in number, were mere cannon-fodder to the Elder One and his generals. Now that Corypheus’s dragon had succeeded in breaking down Haven’s walls and the Inquisition’s army was scattered and on the retreat, Samson and Calpernia were pressing their advantage and sending in their true forces – fully transformed Red Templars and much, much more powerful spellcasters – to finish the job.

“Chargers! To the Chantry!” Iron Bull shouted, hefting his gigantic axe in hand, but keeping his one good eye on the enemy that now forced its way past the palisade.

“But Chief!” I could hear the worry in Krem’s protestation. I knew _he_ knew we needed every sword we could get just to hold back the tide.

“Just do it, Krem!”

No answer as the Chargers obeyed at last, and the only sound from them was their heavy footsteps quickly fading behind us. I knew I should have run with them. I knew I should have heeded my own advice. But something stopped me. Instead of following the Chargers to the Chantry with the rest of the soldiers, I drew my sword and dagger, joining the defensive line of the Herald and his companions, Cullen, and Rylen, as we faced the ever-advancing foe side by side. Vivienne had moved near Cullen, Rylen, and I to provide magical support on our end of the village, alongside Varric, who held Bianca at the ready. Maxwell, Cassandra, Bull, and Solas took the other end of our little vanguard, keeping on the left hand side of the settlement as we backed for the second set of stairs. Dorian and Blackwall held the center, with Cole hovering in the background. Sera was absent, presumably holed up at the Chantry with Josephine and Leliana, perhaps even giving them a synopsis of the fight so far.

All the while, the Venatori and Red Templars kept trickling through the holes in the defenses in an endless stream, until they finally forced us to stand and fight. Shieldless and vulnerable, I tried to keep behind some sort of cover, shouting warnings from my position whenever I could. Though warriors were still the main foe to face, I noticed archers and even mages attempting to get a good vantage point from which to start raining spells and arrows on us and on the backs of the retreating soldiers. Varric maneuvered to pick off these marksmen as soon as they exposed themselves on the ruined platforms, and Dorian and Solas slung lightning and flame respectively at the spellbinders, keeping the enemy mages so occupied with their own self-defense that they didn’t have an opportunity to ward the warriors. All the while, our own melee fighters engaged the Venatori and Red Templars swarming the entry level of the village, and once again, the war cries and clashing of weapons filled my ears.

This time, I found my eye drawn to Maxwell. He’d been caught without a shield, as he hadn’t taken one with him to close the Breach. That didn’t seem to bother him one bit, though. Instead of sticking to one hand to wield his sword, he frequently switched back and forth between one hand and two, making the change even mid-fight with ease. His fighting style was like a blend between Cassandra’s and Iron Bull’s, aggressive but also calculated. He moved quickly to put his foe on the defensive and pushed to keep it that way, harrying each enemy until they made a fatal error. Between his prowess and that of his fellow warriors, they kept the Venatori from pushing us backwards too quickly, and the brilliant flashes of elemental energy from Dorian, Solas, and Vivienne did much to impede the enemy forces’ efforts to advance.

Thus, I thought we were doing better than expected. But, as luck would have it, when we finally reached the area around the Singing Maiden, disaster struck.

Most everyone else was still occupied with fending foes off at the foot of the second flight of steps when I heard a yell from my left. I whirled in that direction, and standing over two wounded soldiers between the burning tavern and the inner wall, was Delia. There she dueled a pair of Venatori warriors in an attempt to keep them from slaughtering the men at her feet. They had somehow managed to skirt the outer edge of the village on the mountain slope and had snuck to the rear of the retreating troops to pick off stragglers. The soldiers over whom she stood appeared to have been hit by falling debris from the tavern, blood trickling from their faces and down their necks. One of the soldier’s legs was twisted at a horrific angle, and his eyes were squeezed shut as he clawed at the dirt in agony. His comrade beside him looked delirious, his pale gaze wandering everywhere.

Delia was good, but one of her opponents was getting very close to flanking her. My eyes wide, I dashed forward with weapons at the ready, hoping to stop one of the Venatori before…

Time seemed to slow. I was already too late. Delia went too wide with her shield in an attempt to disarm her opponent, her sword arm too far apart to close the gap, leaving her open for a counterattack. It was only for a split second, but that was all it took to end it. One challenger rushed for her exposed underarm, the point of his gladius piercing through her torso and emerging behind her collarbone. The other then followed with a brutal strike to the side of her head, his hammer crashing into her helmet with a sickening _crunch_.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

“ _DELIA!_ ”

The roar that burst from my throat didn’t even sound like it belonged to me, primal and raw and throat-skinning with its force. In that instant, something in me snapped like a twig. The stomach-clenching terror, the overwhelming anxiety, and the burn of adrenaline all pumping through my veins reached its peak. I felt like my blood would literally catch fire, my eyeballs searing hot in their sockets. Memories of the moment of Willem’s death flashed through my mind, and I gritted my teeth so hard my skull ached.

What happened to me after that, I didn’t know for sure. All I did know was that I wanted Delia’s murderers dead. My cry distracted them just long enough for my assault to catch them off guard. I leapt at the nearest Venatori, blades poised. Both of brutes were nothing more than walking target dummies, and I saw nothing about them but weak points – weak points I now was determined to exploit. It was a terribly stupid thing to do, considering how little armor I wore, but something had conveniently made me not care anymore.

My sword and dagger both struck the first in the neck, just above the top of his breastplate, spraying blood as I cut his jugular and the blades sank deeper through his throat and spine. I jerked my weapons free as he collapsed under me from his death-blow, and then, shifting my grip on my shortsword, I rushed the second. He had no shield, and so his defenses were limited. I slashed at him, and he parried with his hammer, the shock of it rattling my bones. But before he could move away, I sliced open his wrist with my dagger, his bracer too short to protect it fully. He cried out, the hammer dropped to the ground like a rock, and I surged forward.

The Venatori abruptly grabbed me by the throat with his uninjured hand, squeezing with terrible strength. But somehow, in my near-blind rage, I barely felt it. My dagger struck again, this time stabbing through his exposed bicep on the arm that held me at bay. He stumbled back with a yelp, and the instant he released me, I slashed in a backhanded motion with my sword, the tip striking him in the neck between his helmet and the gorget of his cuirass. More blood as I severed his carotid artery, and he fell to the ground…

“Tamsyn!”

The muffled call of my name was barely audible, everything drowned out by the overwhelming sound of my rapid breathing in my own ears, like my head was underwater.

“Tamsyn!”

I turned with brow furrowed, trying to find the source and briefly glimpsing Iron Bull already hauling one of the wounded soldiers over his shoulder while Maxwell and Rylen took the other more delicately…

“ _Tamsyn!_ ”

The world went sideways as something crashed into me. _Hard_. I cried out, first my shoulder exploding with pain, and then my other arm crumpling awkwardly underneath me as I hit the dirt and rolled. I reeled from the collision, and as I quickly tried to reorient myself, somehow still maintaining my vice grip on my blades, I saw Cullen’s familiar boots not a foot from my head. He was scrambling to recover his balance, a hulking Red Templar looming over us. My eyes widened as I realized I had foolishly let it advance until it was almost on top of me, and it was the Commander himself who had collided into me to push me out of its way. But before Cullen could ready his shield against this new enemy, the giant mace of the Red Templar slammed into the Commander’s breastplate with a sickening _crack_ , sending him sailing backwards into a mountain of crates and barrels that splintered on impact.

“ _No!_ ” I screamed, my heart in my throat.

 _Not him, not him, Jesus, not him!_ I thought as I struggled to get to my feet, ready to tear the Red Templar to shreds, even though I knew my strength was no match for that of the corrupted knight.

But I couldn’t move. This time, I was paralyzed as my brain couldn’t process what to do. I had no idea how to even _begin_ attacking the hulking monstrosity that was bearing down on Cullen right before my very eyes...

And then, I saw a glint of silver, flashing through the air so quickly I couldn’t see where it came from. The monster reeled backwards, and I saw a dagger hilt protruding from its chest, the blade embedded into a distorted lump of flesh that had burst from the confines of the monster’s breastplate long ago when it had first morphed from man to beast. It roared an inhuman howl of pain and rage as Cullen clambered up from the pile of shattered wood. There was another twinkling glint just before he hurled a second dagger, again causing the Red Templar to stumble backwards from the impact. Just these two daggers bought the Commander enough time to return to his feet and ready his sword against his attacker once more…

Suddenly, though, a storm of ice came out of nowhere, whipping in a vortex around the Red Templar with such intensity that I felt my own fingers begin to numb. I rushed to Cullen’s side and backed away with him as the magical blizzard engulfed the monster, turning scarlet crystal a muted purple – the handiwork of Vivienne. My eyes flicked here and there to find her, and I finally spotted the Knight-Enchantress at the same overlook where I had stood less than an hour earlier. A knowing smirk twisted her lips as the Red Templar slowly froze in place, rooted to the spot by the magical ice that spread over the ground…

…and then, just as abruptly, the corrupted beast exploded in a shower of ice and crystal as a magical conflagration burst around it, fire shattering ice: the result of teamwork between Vivienne and Solas, who now stood near her on the ledge, a similar smirk on the elf’s face.

I didn’t get a chance to see much of anything else, though, because Cullen was suddenly dragging me by the arm with his free hand, his shield having dropped to the ground when he was hit by the Red Templar’s mace. He ran with me, bent forward somewhat, his other hand still grasping his sword.

“Fall back! Fall back! _Move!_ ” he barked to the companions, who heeded his command, turning and running for the Chantry.

Thus we withdrew, the enemy still coming from farther behind, but now pushed back enough to buy us a minute or two of respite, or so I thought. The companions shouted for entry, and the mighty Chantry doors were opened by a pair of soldiers just enough to let us all in, Cullen and I bringing up the rear.

And there, in our faces, was Roderick’s angry countenance.

“Commander, I demand to know-”

_Thunk!_

My mouth dropped open, my eyes wide in shock as the Chancellor’s words died immediately…and so did he.

“ _Maker!_ ”

Gasps and screams of fright ripped through the people within. As if fate itself had decided that Roderick would perish sooner rather than later, an arrow whistled just above my head, the wind from it knocking my already-loose hat completely off, and embedded itself in Roderick’s skull, right between the eyes. My heart skipped a beat as I realized then that _I_ would have to tell them about the escape route now…

Before I could react further, though, Cullen jerked me behind the cover of the heavy door.

Retribution for Roderick’s murder was swift. Dorian snarled and hurled an arc of lighting from his staff through the crack in the doors, blasting the sneaky Venatori marksmen who had managed to chase us to the upper tier of the village, but it was too late for the Chancellor. He fell to the floor as the doors then closed once more, the weary soldiers manning them leaning against the heavy wood. Lay sisters rushed forward with expressions of horror writ on their faces, prayers to the Maker spilling from their lips as they knelt over the Chancellor’s body.

A pause as everyone caught their breath, putting away weapons to free their hands as they leaned forward on knees or against walls. It was then and only then I realized I was still clutching my blades, and they were both bloody to the hilt. My hands were trembling as I quickly sheathed the weapons, returning my sword to my hip and my dagger to my boot. I noticed that my gloves were also spattered with blood on the fingers, and I tried wiping at them to make it a little less obvious.

Danger still lurked beyond the Chantry walls, but here, behind a layer of thick and sturdy stone, the illusion of safety allowed me to relax just enough to finally let the adrenaline subside. As it slipped away, however, it was replaced by stomach-rolling nausea. I remembered the fighting, the blood, the sight of Delia’s death, and now Roderick’s. My tongue felt swollen and dry in my mouth, and I tasted bile in the back of my throat as I watched the sisters carry Roderick’s corpse away, through the dumbstruck crowd.

Willing those thoughts to leave me until later, I swallowed hard and I took in the sight before me. The people were packed into the Chantry like sardines – in the walkway, in every alcove and niche, and in every side room. There was no space left without a body in it, and I guessed that there were likely over two hundred crammed in the building, all total. Most people sat in the middle of the main hall, but more stood lining the walls. The healers among the mages tended to the wounded soldiers as best as they were able, Chantry laypersons passing around bandages and tossing small potion vials over heads. Barris and the Templars clustered in one corner, the remaining mages and Fiona in another, Krem and the Chargers in yet another. Sera jumped over a few people to rejoin the companions near the front of the Chantry, and Maxwell and Rylen eased their way through the throng from one of the back rooms as soon as they saw us enter.

There was a long scraping sound as Cullen sheathed his own sword at last, and my attention was suddenly drawn to where he leaned against the wall next to me. He was so quiet I had forgotten he was there, and as I looked at him, I finally saw the extent of damage done to his armor, where the Red Templar’s mace had struck. It had made a fine dent in the metal, crunching it inwards just below one of the odd sharp hooks on his gorget. Though it didn’t look that bad at first, I knew that the full extent of the damage was invisible to outside observers; there was no telling how much trauma such force had caused, and if he didn’t feel it already, he certainly would as soon as his adrenaline rush faded.

“Are you all right?” I asked, unable to keep silent about it. Outwardly, he didn’t appear to be in too much pain, but…

“I’m fine,” he replied curtly.

“Commander!”

Leliana and Josephine rushed forward, pushing through the crowd that now hummed worriedly around us. The Nightingale had her bow and quiver strapped to her back, and Josephine was laden with satchels of varying sizes. The latter’s hair was falling down from her bun, and she wiped her bangs away from her face.

“Sera told us there is a dragon,” the Ambassador said, her voice wavering as she glanced between Cullen and me.

As if confirming that fact, there was a rumbling roar directly overhead, and more shrieks of panic came from the citizenry, while others tried to shush them. There was little time to talk…

“We’re cornered, and there’s too many,” Maxwell said as he shook his head, his visor lifted to reveal his face, which shone with sweat.

Cullen pulled his own helm from his head, running his hand through his damp hair, “I’ll be perfectly honest with you, Herald. There is no way we can fight out of this.”

“I think we all came to that conclusion a long time ago, Curly,” Varric remarked dryly, picking at the fingers of his gloves.

“He’s here for you.”

Cole’s ethereal voice had all heads turning towards the spirit with expressions of bewilderment and apprehension on their faces.

“Cole’s right,” I said, speeding the conversation along as I heard another muffled roar above us. “The Elder One is here for the Herald. But we have a way to stop him.”

“Then _tell us!_ ” Cassandra snapped, her dark eyes flashing dangerously. “And stop keeping secrets!”

“All right, but _listen_ to me!” I said, raising my voice and glancing between them. When I was certain I wouldn’t be interrupted or challenged, I continued, “The trebuchet. The last one should still be standing. Use it on the mountain above the village and bring another avalanche on top of the army.”

Maxwell cocked his head at me, his brow furrowed heavily as he processed my answer. “But…to do that we’d bury Haven.”

“And kill ourselves in the process,” Dorian said flatly, crossing his arms. “That’s not precisely the goal I had in mind when I decided to come to this frozen hole.”

“ _No_ ,” I hissed, shaking my head back and forth. “There’s a way out, a way we can escape. Roderick would have told you, but,” I gestured to the back room where the sisters had taken the Chancellor’s body, “he’s dead, now, so I have to be the one. It’s the summer pilgrimage route…surely someone else besides Roderick knew about it.”

“The tunnels,” Leliana murmured quietly, her eyes widening as understanding dawned across her face.

“What?” Josephine looked at her quizzically.

“You remember, don’t you?” I turned to the Nightingale, whose eyes latched onto mine as I addressed her. “The passages the Hero of Ferelden took to get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. They’re still there, under the mountain. It’s a way to escape into the passes behind the town. We just need someone to buy us enough time to get through the tunnels to safety…” I trailed, glancing to Maxwell.

“…by using the trebuchet to halt the enemy advance,” Cullen finished, his own widening gaze meeting the Herald’s, as if he were seeing the man for the first time. “With the Herald as bait for the Elder One.”

“What do you think, Commander?” Maxwell asked after a moment, swallowing visibly. “Will it work?”

“If the way is not obstructed,” Cullen replied, glancing to Leliana for confirmation.

“We have mages,” she said firmly.

“That you do, darling,” Vivienne remarked. “There will be no problems with anything impeding our progress, I can assure you.”

“But that leaves no option for you, Herald,” the Commander continued, his firelit eyes flicking back to Maxwell. “Unless…” he trailed, uncertainty flashing across his features.

“Don’t worry,” I said, giving Maxwell a small smile. “He has the Maker on his side. He’ll find a way.” I tried my best to say it convincingly; it wasn’t just the villagers I had to persuade, it was Maxwell himself, too. Especially now.

“You’re certain?” Cassandra asked, her rage having already given way to trepidation.

“Positive,” I replied with a nod.

At last, Maxwell shook his head, “We have no time to keep debating. I’m going to trust you on this one, Tamsyn – it’s the only plan we’ve got.”

Sighing, Cullen gestured for two soldiers. “You two! Go with the Herald to load the last trebuchet. Get back here as soon as you’re finished and follow the last of us, understood?”

“Yes, ser!”

Turning back to Maxwell, he added, “We’ll give you a signal to fire once we’re above the tree line. Try to keep the Elder One occupied until then.”

The Herald nodded once in understanding, and then, glancing to his companions, added, “Solas, Varric, Cassandra…I want you with me until I get to the trebuchet and have it ready. After that…just make sure to get the soldiers back to the others in one piece.”

The three glanced to each other, knowing what he meant to do.

“Andraste protect you, Herald,” Josephine said quietly, at which Maxwell’s expression softened a bit, and he offered her one last reassuring smile before turning to the doors. Then, visibly steeling himself, he lowered his visor and pushed through, his chosen comrades following at his heels.

Only a breath of silence followed after the Chantry doors clanged loudly shut behind them, something strangely final about it. Then, turning to the gathered people, Cullen barked loudly, “Inquisition, through the Chantry now! Follow Sister Leliana! Quickly!”

A growing roar filled the building as the previously-quiet occupants all began talking at once.

“Take anything of value and all the supplies the Ambassador and Mother Giselle gathered together!” Rylen added to the Commander’s order, shouting over the noise. “Move, _move!_ ”

At that, we advisors, followed closely by the Herald’s other companions, began pushing through the throng to lead the escape. All the while, the people scrambled to their feet, grabbing anything and everything they could get their hands on. The wounded were supported by their comrades, or if they couldn’t walk, were carried in some way – a few riding piggyback, while others were toted in a fireman’s carry. Soldiers and Templars ducked into the side rooms, picking up open crates and chests and bags of various materials. I thought I glimpsed Strider in the back, past the lay sisters, rolling up the maps and tucking them under his arms. Josephine quickly instructed two men to carry a massive lockbox from her office. She swiftly entered after them and emerged promptly with a blanket draped around her shoulders like a shawl and the war room chest in her hands. All this before Cullen or Leliana or I ever reached the door to the dungeon.

“There were renovations done to the Chantry on Justinia’s orders,” Leliana explained as we quickly descended the steep flight of steps, her voice echoing on the stone, “the most recent ones were finished at the end of the summer, right before the Conclave was to be held in August. The tunnels running from the Chantry were sealed off, but Roderick must have visited prior and taken a path to the Temple of Sacred Ashes through the old passageways.” She paused before adding, “Hopefully, there’s nothing more standing between us and safety than a simple stone wall.”

The building shuddered again with another roar of Corypheus’s dragon, and a chorus of anxious shrieking came from the refugees, reverberating overtop the thunderous sound of everyone’s footsteps on the flagstones as they followed us down the stairs.

“We’ll have to do this quickly,” Cullen remarked, his shadowed amber gaze lifting to the ceiling as dust fell from it with the vibration.

“Agreed,” I said, “The Herald can’t hold off the Elder One forever.”

We picked up the pace, then, almost moving at a jog as we traversed the undercroft behind Leliana, the rest of the Inquisition on our heels...

Then, as we passed by the cells, I saw where Butler and Alexius were being held, and I could hear Rylen’s voice echoing behind us as he shouted at some soldiers, “Get them out and bring them with us, but keep them under watch.”

“Yes, ser!”

I bit my lip. Alexius I wasn’t sure about, but I certainly had no problem with leaving Butler behind in his cell while the whole village collapsed around him. Unfortunately, it wasn’t my decision to make, and I pressed my lips together as I contemplated the fact that my attacker would be sharing the same camp as me and the rest of the refugees. I didn’t think he deserved that courtesy, even if I had kept Sister Nightingale from killing him at first.

At last, we reached the very back of the dungeon, where a wall much fresher than the rest of the structure stood. Vivienne pushed forward without even being asked, her poise and grace never once wavering as her heels clicked sharply on the stone. Leliana gave her a questioning look, and the First Enchanter glanced over the wall but for a singular moment before lifting her hands. A pale blue glow radiated from her slender fingertips, eliciting a gasp from the non-mage members of the evacuees who were close enough to see her casting.

Even after all the magic I had seen that day, I, too, was in awe as Vivienne made short work of the wall. After only a breath or two, the stones shuddered and separated one by one, as if they each had a mind of their own, sliding sideways with sharp grinding and clacking noises. They parted like a curtain being pulled to the sides of the room until the tunnel beyond was revealed in full. A blast of frigid air followed, threatening to extinguish what little light flickered in the dark of the dungeon. Vivienne lowered her hands and turned around then, an unmistakable expression of pride on her features as she smiled at Leliana, and more gasps followed from the spectators.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Leliana breathed, and I couldn’t help but grin.

“Told you,” I said quietly.

Josephine lifted her hand to her mouth in surprise and relief, shaking her head at the sight before her, “So you did, Tamsyn.”

“Grab the torches!” Cullen shouted, “Everyone move quickly! We have no time to waste!”

The crowd behind us began to buzz with excitement, now. A way out. An escape from destruction. There was hope after all. The throng pushed forward again, propelling us at our previous pace. Maker help anyone who tripped or fell behind, as I feared they would be mercilessly run over by the desperate populace bringing up the rear. Cullen took one of the torches passed to him by a soldier as we broke into a jog in the dark tunnels beyond the dungeon. The floor and walls of the tunnels were damp, and the musty odor of mold tickled my nostrils as we went, along with the smell of burning oil from the torch Cullen held above our heads. Despite the light of the fire, the way ahead was still shrouded in shadow, and yet we pushed onwards. Hesitation was not an option.

The air was thick with anticipation. With every turn we expected something terrible to come out of the dark and try to impede us, but instead, we were simply greeted with more tunnels and more darkness. I prayed we wouldn’t reach a crossroads anywhere along the way, because we had no time to debate about which direction to take. Maxwell depended on that signal flare…

Then, suddenly, Leliana’s voice rang out, “Look, there!”

I squinted, and peering beyond her slim physique in the shadows, I saw light. Natural light.

“That’s it! Go, go, go!” I yelled.

We ran for the exit, the tunnel widening and opening like a yawning maw into the pass behind the village, icicles draping the mouth of the tunnel like the fangs of a dragon. The landscape dipped upwards sharply, and we scrambled through the thick snow, charging forward. As soon as we broke above the trees, able to see behind us, I looked back.

And there, through the thinning treetops, I saw Haven burning.

“The flare! Fire the flare! Do it now!” I shouted.

At that, Leliana drew her bow and knocked an arrow. “I’ll need someone to light this!”

We rushed after her, Cullen following closely with his torch in hand. The Nightingale quickly found a clear spot, unobscured by the tall evergreens that were sparser the farther up the mountain they grew. Then, briefly dipping the arrow tip into Cullen’s torch long enough for the shaft to catch flame, she aimed towards the sky and fired.

Everyone stopped, gathered, and watched with bated breath, craning their necks to see the blazing village between the trees. One second passed. Then two. Then ten.

_Come on, Max, come on…_

And then, past the haze of smoke and the glare of flame, the arm of the trebuchet swung, its load soaring upwards like a meteor. There was an echoing crack as the rock struck the mountainside above Haven…

…and then the roar followed – the unimaginable roar of a landslide twice as large as the first one the Herald had unleashed upon the Elder One’s army. It rumbled through our feet, vibrating our bones as it tumbled down the mountain, gaining speed as it went. We watched, mouths agape at the terrible sight of Haven being crushed beneath the avalanche, wiped from the earth as if it had never once existed, the Elder One’s dragon taking wing with a burden in its claws. And then, after a few moments, there was nothing but eerie and oppressive silence blanketing the mountain.

Soft gasps followed as the refugees realized what had happened. And then, with tears shining in her hazel eyes, Josephine whispered softly, “The _Herald_ …”


	24. Chapter 24

We had no choice but to walk.

Not long after we began our journey, I came to an unfortunate conclusion: I hadn’t really understood just how much warmth Haven had actually harbored, as frigid as the town was out of doors, until there was no heat to be found anywhere. _At all_. There were no blazing braziers to sidle up to anytime one chose to do so; no buildings to conveniently shield one from the chill of the wind as it whistled through the valley and into the streets; no welcoming rooms to which one could retreat at any moment, heated by merrily-crackling fires with walls insulated by tapestries and floors covered with fur throws and rugs. None of it.

As I trudged along with the rest of the evacuees, puffing out clouds of white mist with each breath, I realized I had foolishly taken all of those conveniences for granted. I had dared to be annoyed at the cold biting at my nose or the brief numbness of my hands, both of which were easily banished after only a few moments of standing in my cozy cabin. I had dared to think I was suffering in the slightest, all because living conditions in Haven were colder than what my modern HVAC-pampered ass was accustomed to.

Now, I was certain I knew true suffering.

We kept hiking across an incline on the flank of one of the mountains, searching for a safe pass and a spot to make camp well away from the village, in case our enemies tried to pursue us…although Cullen was convinced that they would think us all dead after the avalanche. At least for now. Blasts of arctic air rippled through the tall firs, piercing through our jackets and coats as if we wore nothing at all in these frozen wilds. I shivered almost uncontrollably, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. My hat – retrieved from the floor of the Chantry as we rushed to the dungeon – did little to help my ears, being too short to cover them, and they ached with the icy wind rushing into them. My lips, chapped by the constant wind, became rawer and rawer as I licked them over and over again, despite knowing better. I bowed my head against the punishing gales, blinking rapidly as my eyes were burned and dried. These unceasing and agonizing sensations succeeded in numbing my brain to any thoughts besides those of survival; recent memories of Haven’s siege flashing through my mind and worries about the future gnawing at my heart were batted away each time they surfaced by the overwhelming feeling of utter misery.

And as if all that wasn’t enough to endure, a blanket of snow physically impeded our progress, thick enough to slow us down but not packed tightly enough to prevent us from sinking through to our knees with each step. It numbed legs and feet, made muscles stiff with the cold as it seeped through our clothing, and resulted in many of us slipping and falling flat on our faces by concealing uneven ground, rocks, and twisting roots beneath it. Those who didn’t wear thick boots, fearing frostbite would take their toes, found themselves carried by the others who were able. Josephine was among them, toted along by Iron Bull, but not by the Lady Ambassador’s request. As one would naturally expect, she had initially protested against it, despite the fact her flimsy satin slippers and stockings were soaked through. But Leliana had finally insisted – quite firmly in fact – that Josie take Bull’s generous offer.

And that was that.

Though, considering how little time it took for her to curl into the qunari’s broad chest, clutching her blanket tighter around her, I was convinced she hadn’t regretted giving in to the Nightingale’s order.

I traveled at the head of the group, following a few paces behind Cullen and Leliana. Once in a while, I would pause and look back to see if everyone was still trailing in our wake. Most of the Herald’s companions were on my heels, Bull and Vivienne the closest. If I squinted, I could see Solas, Varric, and Cassandra bringing up the rear, indicating they had indeed managed to duck into the Chantry before Maxwell had fired the last trebuchet. They looked to be busy ensuring that no one fell behind, although I imagined Cassandra wanted nothing more than to charge to the head of the train of citizens and accost me or the other advisors. Between us, the soldiers and Templars still managed to shoulder their burdens of equipment and other supplies and hike through the knee-deep snow at the same time, while everyone else huddled together to stay warm. The mages, I noted, kept to themselves on the outer edges of the group, led by Fiona. In the middle, the few handfuls of children clung to their parents or to the skirts of the lay sisters, Giselle at their head.

All the while, the air was filled with the sounds of crunching snow, pained grunts, weary huffs, shivering breaths, weak sniffs, and rattling armor. Yet, while this noise never ceased, no one among the former inhabitants of Haven said a word to each other, and I assumed they felt much the same as I – too miserable, weary, and emotionally drained to even speak.

That was, until Leliana addressed Cullen ahead of me, barely audible above the growing howl in the peaks high above.

“Commander, you should get that taken care of.”

Cullen, who had put his helm back on and discarded the torch that had guttered out in the wind long ago, merely grunted. “Not until the others are seen to, first.”

I noticed he was hissing slightly with each exhale, his head bent forward but his torso rather rigid as he trudged onwards. I winced, seriously worried about the extent of his injury, now. As I remembered where precisely he had been hit, and took into account how he had moved since then, I was convinced he was suffering from a fractured rib…perhaps the topmost two. If so, this trek through the snow was causing him agony with every breath and every step.

_And you caused it by being stupid._

Crushing guilt pressed down on me, and it made my already fatigued state even worse. I was finally falling from the heights of the adrenaline high I had experienced during the battle, and with every movement I felt faint. We’d been going for at least half an hour, now, nonstop. Maybe even an hour at this point…

Suddenly, my knees buckled under me, refusing to move. I could barely feel my legs, and I crumpled into the snow, sinking to my hips in the white sea. It wasn’t but a moment, though, before I felt someone pulling me up again, tossing my arm over their shoulders and supporting me as we stumbled forward together.

_Rylen._

“I got you, Tamsyn,” the Knight-Captain said breathlessly, his voice tremulous from the cold. I glanced sideways to see dried blood caked to the side of his face, a cracking, near-black rivulet running from a deep slice across his cheekbone, just below his temple, adding to his already impressive number of scars. I hadn’t remembered him taking a hit in the battle. But, then again, everything had gone by in such a blur…

Rylen then raised his voice and shouted ahead, “We need to find a stop soon!”

“We’re almost to a good place,” Leliana yelled back. “Just a bit farther!”

And indeed, past the hunched forms of the Spymaster and the Commander, I could see a denser grove of evergreen trees than the sparse smattering of firs we had been trekking past, which would provide some modicum of shelter from the incessant wind. These trees were grouped on flatter terrain, the ground leveling out now that we were some distance away from the mountain, with what appeared to be less snow accumulation, judging from the clearly visible rocks and fallen logs.

Or maybe they were just big.

In any case, it would be an excellent place to rest and get our bearings, to build a fire on the edge of the woods and warm ourselves before the weather turned fouler than it already was. Relief flooded me, and Rylen seemed to feel the same, judging from his weak laugh. “Ah…look at that. We’re going to make it after all, eh, lass?”

“Yeah…yeah, we are,” I replied, managing a weary smile. “I think.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Perhaps half an hour later, three blazing bonfires had been built out of brush and lit by a few of the mages. Blankets and other articles were pulled from the supplies and draped around those who wore the least amount of clothing; not everyone had heavy outfits like the fur-lined uniforms of the soldiers, and many hadn’t had a chance to grab cloaks or other coverings before Corypheus’s army had descended upon Haven. On top of that, Fiona had her mages begin approaching the travelers to warm frozen hands and feet and to offer healing services to those who needed them. But, as I feared might happen, there was a bit of a kerfuffle as they did so, some of the more superstitious and phobic members of the citizenry objecting to being merely _touched_ by the mages.

That was put to a complete halt once Cassandra suggested rather loudly that the healers and surgeons be prepared to perform amputations later.

I had already informed Leliana of the blizzard that was on its way. Though she wasn’t saying much lately, especially to me, she did make sure everyone understood that this was only a temporary stop while she searched for a safer place to shelter during the coming storm. The Nightingale then busied herself with her ravens, whose cages the soldiers had managed to save at the last minute, and was scribbling out messages as fast as she could, sending them out to the closest Inquisition encampments with supplies and brontos to spare. While waiting for word back from these outposts, she ordered several of her scouts out to inspect the passes in the mountains around us, one of which I learned headed towards the Temple of Sacred Ashes – the summer pilgrimage route Roderick had mentioned.

 _Roderick_. Images of his and Delia’s deaths were flashing vividly in my mind, now that the warmth of the fires had banished the cold and returned thoughts other than that of easing my misery to my brain. Memories of the battle came rushing back, and I felt my face twisting into a grimace as I stood before one of the bonfires, holding my palms out towards the yellow-orange flame.

 _I could still see their faces, etched with their final expressions as the light left their eyes. I could still smell the metallic scent of blood, along with the stench of burning oil and choking smoke. I could still hear the cries of the dying as though they were screaming in my ears, over and over and over. I could_ feel _the sickening sensation of my blades slicing into flesh, as if my hands yet held them and yet cut into my enemies…_

The world spun and acid hit the back of my throat. I shoved my way through the crowd of people, stumbling behind the trees and holly shrubs, the noisy hum of the refugees gradually becoming fainter and fainter and my crunching footsteps growing louder and louder as I went. I coughed once before finally vomiting my stomach contents into the snow. The sheer force of it pushed me to my knees. My ears burned, and I broke out into a cold sweat. I heaved and heaved until there was nothing left, and still I kept heaving, sputtering and gasping for breath. I was so consumed by the violence of my retching that I barely registered someone was behind me, holding my hat and my ponytail back from my face as I puked my guts out.

“You, too, huh?”

A gust of wind cooled the sweat on my face as I wiped my mouth and twisted my head around to look over my shoulder. There stood a young soldier, perhaps no more than sixteen or seventeen years old, his countenance a sickly green hue that I had no doubt my own face had taken on, too. He looked down at me with concern in his dark eyes as he abruptly let go of my hair and handed back my hat.

I nodded, taking a deep, calming breath to steady myself. “Yeah…I…” I started to explain, but then stopped, instead saying simply, “Yeah. Me, too.”

He chuckled nervously. “Don’t tell the Commander, would you?” He jerked his thumb back at the encampment. His tone was jesting, but his expression betrayed his true worry of what Cullen would think of him if the Commander knew one of his soldiers had thrown up from the gruesomeness and stress of battle.

I knew Cullen wouldn’t be that unkind…that he knew good and damned well what happened to soldiers during and after battle. But I didn’t voice my thoughts. Instead, I tried to joke back, smiling weakly. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

His brows lifted momentarily before he offered his own lopsided smile and nodded emphatically. “Your secret’s safe with me, milady.”

And with that, he awkwardly about-faced and hurried back to camp before he was missed. As I watched him disappear, some part of me hoped the lad would end up on guard patrol at Skyhold, and not out on mission somewhere. I unhooked my waterskin from my belt with trembling hands and stood on wobbly legs, smacking the skin against my thigh when I noticed the contents had turned to slush from the cold. I rinsed my mouth, spat, and drank again, the cool water doing wonders for my uneasy stomach. Then, taking another calming breath, I replaced the skin, resettled my hat, and made my return in the soldier’s wake.

When I walked back into the camp, though, I immediately noticed that Cullen was not far away, immersed in a discussion with Harritt. Though he was facing the smith when I approached, I saw his eyes flick sideways at me as I moved into his field of vision. My heart skipped a beat, and the urge to turn away and retreat nearly overwhelmed me. But part of me knew he would follow me anyway if he really wanted to speak with me, and so I steeled myself and stayed put, pretending to simply be seeking the fire’s warmth again. As I glanced in his direction again, I noticed was missing his breastplate; the quilted gambeson he wore underneath was visible, the damaged piece of plate now in Harritt’s hands. I could hear the smith talking quietly with the Commander about the state and repairability of his armor, and it seemed Cullen was more than a bit miffed at what Harritt had to say.

“…silverite. Can’t fix it right, though, until we get to a proper forge. _If_ we get to a proper forge. Best not get into a fight until then, if you can help it. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can scrounge up from what the Nightingale’s people bring to us.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

“Sure thing, Commander.”

The two men nodded to each other, parting ways, and Cullen, just as I expected he would, made a beeline for me, his helmet swinging where it was lashed to his belt.

“Tamsyn, we need to talk. Now.” He jerked his head in the direction of the deeper woods. I swallowed and wordlessly followed as he turned on his heel, knowing he’d likely drag me out there if I didn’t go voluntarily. This was probably the “having words” part he had promised me before the battle earlier. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I didn’t have much of a defense against the onslaught I knew was coming...

Hoping to diffuse the situation a little after a few moments of walking in utter silence, I said quietly, “About your wound, Commander…”

“It has been treated. I will be fine.”

“Oh,” I replied, noting the clipped tone. He was definitely still pissed. “Well, I have some elfroot potions in my pack if you’re in-”

“I’m _fine_ ,” he repeated, more firmly this time.

I knew and understood perfectly well why he was angry, but something boiled inside my veins at that, and I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “You’re obviously not, considering you’re being rather short with me.”

He spun around, amber eyes blazing like fire, and I halted in my tracks, my sore stomach flopping with nerves. He was outright glaring at me, his brow deeply furrowed, his hair curling and falling loose onto his forehead from the sheer number of times he had run his fingers through it in frustration. I could practically _feel_ the ire emanating from him, even with several paces between us, and I was certain that if his fur mantle could rise like hackles, it would.

“And why _shouldn’t_ I be short with you?” he retorted sharply. “After what just happened in Haven?” he pointed in the direction from which we had come. “After you withheld information from me, knowingly and willingly, and allowed good men and women to die? You _knew_!” He repeated his charge from earlier, turning his finger on me. “You knew and you just…” he trailed, shaking his head in incredulity and tossing his hands upwards, seemingly in an absolute loss for words.

“I already admitted to you back there that yes, I _did_ know,” I said, crossing my arms and glancing back over my shoulder, borderline paranoid that someone would overhear us like the few soldiers had at Haven. I honestly wished he would stop saying that over and over again before the rest of the refugees figured out I could have “foreseen” the attack too and decided to hang me as a traitor for not telling anyone about it. “What else do you want me to say, Cullen?”

I immediately felt my cheeks heat as his name rolled off of my tongue, I realized it was the first time I had addressed him that way. I had tried sticking to his title before that moment. It seemed the most professional thing to do. Saying it out loud to him, now, and having it slip out so easily…it felt…

“I want to know _why!_ ” he growled.

His hand flexed as his piercing gaze locked on mine, and my throat suddenly went dry. My mind momentarily drew a blank as my heart pounded, and I felt my mouth opening and closing several times before I got anything to come out.

“It’s…it’s complicated…” was all I could muster.

The silence that hung between us seemed to last an eternity, his eyes never leaving mine. At last though, he snorted derisively as he echoed, “It’s ‘complicated’.” He shook his head again, and his lip seemed to curl in disgust. “It’s always _complicated_ with you isn’t it?” He closed the distance between us, lowering his voice to a deadly tone. “You said you wanted the best possible outcome for _everyone_ in the Inquisition. You _said_ you wanted to help us succeed, and I _believed_ you.” Those last words came out thick with emotion, and the look of betrayal in his eyes was back, twisting my heart into a knot. “And now look. You knew of a direct attack far in advance, and you did _nothing_!”

But I hadn’t done “nothing.” I could feel my own anger rising at his accusation, anger that banished my nerves and gave me the courage to defend myself.

“Let me tell you what _I’ve done_ , Commander,” I growled back at him, poking the front of his gambeson as I looked up into his face. “If it weren’t for _me_ , the Templars the Herald managed to save from Therinfal would have either had red lyrium shoved down their throats or been slain like animals and unable to help us! If it weren’t for _me_ ,” I pointed behind me, “this camp would be less than half this size because two thirds of the citizenry would have fucking burned alive in the village! You would have been blindsided even more than you already were. All of the civilians would have been out in the open instead of in the Chantry before that dragon arrived!”

His eyes narrowed and darkened. “The Revered Mother called the service-”

“ _Because I told her to!_ ” I hissed, my thumb clonking dully against my breastplate as I pointed at myself. His eyes widened somewhat at that revelation, but I didn’t give him a chance to respond. “ _I_ was the one who organized that! _I_ was the one who told her it would be a good idea, because yes, I _knew_ the dragon was coming and yes, I _knew_ it was the only place anyone stood a chance of surviving the onslaught! And I _knew_ we had to go there anyway because it was the only way out! And then,” I pointed at the bow on my back, “I stood on those damned walls with everyone else and emptied my fucking quiver into those bastards to help buy us time and hold them back! So _maybe,_ instead of bitching about how much I _didn’t_ do, maybe you should stop and think about what I _did_ do for one…damned…second!”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and I saw the column of his neck tense as his eyes searched mine. At last, after a few tense moments during which I felt like he was sifting through my very soul, he huffed out a breath and looked away. “Your efforts immediately before _and_ during the battle are appreciated, Tamsyn. And I thank you for it. But don’t you realize that it never would have had to happen in the first place had you informed me enough time in advance? Had you told me an army of that magnitude would assault Haven…had you told me about a dragon…”

“…you would’ve questioned me until I told you too much, and I knew _that_ , too!” I finished, voice rising in my vexation. “Don’t _you_ realize, if I…”

He smacked a hand to his forehead. “Yes, the story, the _Maker-damned story! I get it!_ ”

“No, you don’t!” I retorted, shouting at him now. “You’ll never get it! You’ll never understand!”

He raked his fingers through his hair, audibly hissing his irritation. I clutched at my hat in my frustration, pacing back and forth in the snow and quickly wearing a path through it. “You don’t know…just how delicate everything is. You saw Samson… _yes_ , that was Samson!” I repeated the fact after I briefly glanced up and saw the flicker of interest in his expression; I supposed that his suspicions were confirmed just then. “And beside him was Calpernia, the leader of the Venatori. If we had gone with just one side to rescue, the mages or the Templars, then it would have been one or the other. If we stuck with solely the rebel mages, it would have been just Samson and his Red Templars. If we stuck with solely the Templars from Therinfal, it would have been just Calpernia and her Venatori. But because we broke away from the story…”

I paused, catching his gaze again and holding it as I continued, “Because we saved some Templars along with the rebel mages? _They both came_. In a force twice as large as would have come otherwise. And because of that, I’d say we’re damned lucky that my plan to get everyone in the Chantry ahead of time worked. Do you see now, Cullen?” I implored. “Everything I do, everything I change, will have an unexpected result that we’ll have to find some way to counter. And the next time, it might not be so small in comparison.”

Silence as we stared at each other for several moments, each trying to break through to the other…both of us trying desperately to make the other see our points. At last, he chuckled mirthlessly. “So, this is it, then? I’m supposed to simply accept the fact that you are in charge of how much I get to know, and consequently, who lives and who dies?” He shook his head again, slower this time, and visibly swallowing. “I already served under someone who thought they had that authority and kept my silence about it for too long. I will _never_ be silent again.”

My eyes widened in utter shock. _How_ dare _he…_

“I am not fucking _Meredith_ ,” I said through gritted teeth. “So you can drop that goddamned analogy right now.”

A flash of surprise in his amber eyes, then. Had he forgotten I knew all about her? I watched as the panels of chain in his gambeson shimmered with the rise and fall of his chest. We were both breathing out fine clouds of mist in the cold air, and already I was feeling the deep chill seeping back into my bones after so long away from the fires. Weariness fell over me, and it came out in my voice as I dropped my gaze to the snow.

“I asked you to trust me, and you _promised_ me you would try,” I said quietly. “What happened? I told you there would be tragedies, didn’t I? Things we couldn’t stop no matter how much we knew? You know as well as I do that if it didn’t happen at Haven, then it would have happened somewhere else, under circumstances I didn’t know a damned thing about,” I looked back up at him. “Isn’t it better that I was able to save more than would have been saved had I not told Mother Giselle to hold that Chantry service?”

A long moment, and then a heavy sigh. Of exasperation, surrender, or merely fatigue, I wasn’t certain. “You’re _impossible_.”

This time, I was the one shaking my head at him. “Cullen…you act like I don’t care. Like I don’t give a damn about what happens to these people, but you’re wrong. I lost a good friend tonight in Corporal Delia Rothe. And I saw her _avenged_.” There were hot tears in my eyes, which I fought with all my willpower to keep from spilling onto my cheeks, and my stomach rolled like the sea on the Storm Coast. “I killed the man who murdered one of the few people here who didn’t treat me like I’m some sort of…some sort of _freak!_ ” A twisting pain accompanied that last word, and it must have made itself evident in my voice, as his expression suddenly melted into…what?

“I will never be able to forget that moment,” I added, voice barely above a whisper, “just like I will never be able to forget the sight of Willem dying for me.”

I could feel my anger and defensiveness slipping away, giving way to guilt. Grief was crashing over me in overwhelming waves, nigh unstoppable in its power. I felt those losses so keenly, perhaps because I had already lost so much. I wondered just how much more I was capable of losing before I went mad from it all…

“And then _you_ charged in and almost got killed, too!” I tossed my hands upwards. “Why did you do that? Why did you save me?”

Cullen’s brow furrowed at me in obvious bewilderment. “What? Tamsyn, I-”

“The Red Templar,” I interjected. “It would have killed me. I never would have known what hit me. Why did you bother saving me from my own stupidity? Delia probably died because of me, and I almost los – you almost died, too.”

“Tamsyn…”

“I know. It’s because you save people,” I said, not giving him a chance to answer, because I knew the answer already. “It’s what you do, now. What you always wanted to do.”

I turned from him, then, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing back the hot emotion in my eyes as I marched towards camp again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be brave enough to change the story and help you save more.”

He was right. He was right, and I knew it. And no amount of excuses I threw at him would erase the fact that I could have done more than I did. I knew he probably thought I was a coward. And if he did, he was _right_.

The story be damned… _I could have done more._

\------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t long before we were moving again, this time to a deep ravine between two mountains, which would suffice in protecting us from the blizzard slowly blowing in from the south. Leliana informed us that Scout Harding was heading our way through that same pass and would meet up with us with all the supplies from one of our nearby outposts, as well as several pack brontos. The people weren’t eager to trek through the snow again – and to be honest, neither was I – but hope for more blankets and supplies lifted spirits a bit. And so we went on.

I took my place behind Cullen, Leliana, and Cassandra again, not saying anything unless spoken to, and for a long time, we walked in utter silence. After a time, though, Leliana asked for confirmation that the Herald would have made it out of Haven alive. After I reaffirmed that yes, he would, she began sending out scouting parties to find him, heading back where we had come to search for signs of the Herald or where he might have escaped to.

A half-hour later, the clouds began to cover the sky in earnest as the blizzard approached, and the temperature dropped even more. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Scout Harding and her men met with us, four brontos carrying all the tents, furniture, and other supplies they had gathered together. It was then we began to establish a base camp in earnest, pitching what tents we had, building more fires, and setting up various locations for resources and intelligence. A makeshift war room tent was erected on the outskirts, along with a command tent for Cullen, a scouting tent for Leliana and her ravens, and a surgeon’s tent for the wounded. There weren’t enough tents for all of us to shelter under, however, and so the rest of them were pitched for the civilians and children while the soldiers and other forces remained in the open, huddled near braziers and bonfires.

After helping to distribute our extra blankets and food supplies amongst the refugees, I found myself sitting on a log that had been dragged in front of one of the fires. I unbuckled my bags and dropped them on the ground at my feet, sighing in relief as their burden was finally gone. They weren’t all that heavy, really, but after hours of carrying them, my back was positively aching.

Honestly, everything hurt. My legs, my arms, my back…my _head_. I was exhausted, so tired I was shaking. But even so, even with it surely being past midnight now and well on the way towards morning, I couldn’t even _think_ about sleeping. I was too nervous. And even if I hadn’t been, the howling of the wind around the mountains as the snowstorm finally struck was enough to keep anyone from sleeping. I craned my neck upwards at the impossibly tall peaks, and though snowflakes swirled around us now, and the wind was strong enough to whip the tent flaps and make the fires dance, the full brunt of the storm seemed to miss us – if only barely. Somewhere in the middle of all that, I knew, was Maxwell, fighting for his life…

Heavy crunching footsteps broke me out of my thoughts, and I looked over my shoulder to see Rylen approaching from behind. He gave me a polite nod as I saw him. “Mind if I join you?”

“Go ahead,” I said simply, gesturing to the space of log beside me.

He sat, then, removing his sword belt and drawing the blade. It was yet stained with blood, and as he withdrew a cloth, a bottle, and small stone from a pouch on the belt, I realized he was going to set about caring for the weapon. I watched, strangely fascinated as he cleaned, sharpened, and polished the sword with speed and efficiency. Judging by the blank expression on his face as he bent over the blade, focused on his task, it seemed the work was somewhat cathartic for him. His wound had been healed, I noted, his skin cleaned, a line of fresh pink flesh now where the bloody slash was before.

He was almost finished when I remembered I had left mine dirty in my scabbards. I wasn’t an expert on the subject, but surely it wasn’t good for them to keep them that way…

“Uh, Captain?” I asked tentatively.

“Hmm?” he responded without looking at me.

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

That finally made his stormy gaze flick upwards, one brow quirking. “Your weapons need cleaning?”

I nodded.

“All right,” he acquiesced, gesturing for them. “Give them here and I’ll show you.”

I pulled out my blades and carefully handed them over to him, and when he saw their stained edges, a shadow crossed his countenance. His voice was quiet as he remarked, “Oh…that’s right. You, ah…you killed those ‘Vints, didn’t you?”

It didn’t take a genius to know he was remembering Delia’s death and my subsequent attack on the Venatori who had murdered her. He had been close by when it happened – there was no way he could have missed it.

“Yeah,” I replied, just as quietly. “I did.”

He nodded slowly, turning my sword over in his hand, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I’m sorry, Tamsyn.” Condolences. I knew from the tone.

“Me, too.” I said.

I wasn’t sure if he and Delia were as close as I thought they might be. Perhaps they merely had crushes, never realizing they had both held the same feelings for each other. Or maybe not. Maybe I was seeing things, and they were just friendly with one another. But, in any case, it was apparent that I wasn’t the only one who was mourning her loss.

Clearing his throat, Rylen then busied himself with working with my sword and dagger, demonstrating how to properly clean dirty weapons and how to sharpen and polish them to prevent rusting. In an effort to banish the sadness from my thoughts, I forced myself to focus on his words and instruction and to commit them to memory. Among other things, he listed a myriad of whetstone types that were appropriate for sharpening, and he also noted which ones he personally liked for their ability to maintain an edge. I tried my best to remember them all, as well as their places of origin for when we could requisition supplies again.

“Wish we didn’t have to sheathe the damn things bloody,” he muttered at length, “but what can you do?”

One final wipe on the dagger and he proffered them both back to me. “There you are. Your scabbards may cause issues, what with grime still in them. If that’s the case, you might have to have a new, clean pair made. That’s the price for having to stow them away right after a fight.”

As I thanked him and sheathed them once again, he stood with a groan and gave me a firm clap on the shoulder, “Right, then. I need to see the Commander about some patrols. Stay warm.”

“You too, Knight-Captain.”

He left, and I sat in silence again, watching as everyone else milled around, just as tired as I was and yet, also like me, unable to find rest. I saw Strider managing Leliana’s ravens in their cages on the edge of camp, cursing loudly when one of them pinched his finger. I thought I glimpsed Lea, too, busy running errands and fetching various items for the healers, who were still working on the worst of the wounded. Sean, I was happy to see, had huddled with the other children and the lay sisters amidst a pile of furs and blankets, and Giselle was kneeling with them. Harritt seemed to be trying to do what work he could on Cullen’s armor with a hammer and a pair of tongs.

Suddenly, there were more crunching footsteps approaching from behind me, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cassandra sit down beside me, her armor jangling slightly. She huffed out a breath – in weariness or exasperation I wasn’t quite sure – and held her hands palm-out in front of the fire, staring into the flames.

“Going to question me, too, Seeker?” I finally asked with a sigh, wondering if she was going to give me the same “why” treatment that Cullen had earlier. I honestly didn’t want to repeat all that again.

I kept my gaze on the fire as she looked at me and replied simply, “No. I am not. I have heard enough about it all from the Commander. We just finished speaking, as a matter of fact.”

Silence _. Well, then._

She crossed her arms and pulled her feet back against the log, raising her knees and resting her elbows atop them. “I must admit,” she added after a moment, “I still have difficulty understanding you. But as much as my mind might object, given what just occurred, my heart tells me you are not a woman who would seek to harm us. Not intentionally. Josephine thinks so as well.”

 _Thank the Maker for small miracles,_ I thought.

“I also know you did what you thought was right, at the time. And I can only hope that it _was_ ,” she continued. “You made your choice based on events you know have yet to come. Based on the story you have been privileged to know. It is something I have to keep reminding myself of. I do not envy you.” Chuckling, she added, “Maker knows what _I_ would do in your shoes.”

More silence. Part of me was surprised Cassandra hadn’t verbally thrashed me like Cullen had. But I also knew that she was a woman of great faith, and I wondered if she hadn’t done the same thing to me as she had done the Herald – convinced herself that the Maker had put us both here for a reason and allowed herself to question little regarding our actions because of that. If so, I wished I could share that same confidence about myself that she seemed to have.

“Cassandra…can I tell you something?” I asked quietly.

“Of course,” she replied, looking sideways at me again.

I let out a breath slowly, meeting her curious brown gaze. “I’m afraid.”

Surprise was evident in her arched brows. “What of?”

I swallowed. “I’m so scared…all the time. I already lost everything once. I’m so afraid of losing everything again. I know the path to success, and…I don’t want one mistake to mess all that up. Forever. We’ve only got one chance.”

She nodded in understanding. “Hence your caution.”

“Yes.”

She looked back at the fire. “The Commander told me you lost your mentor in the battle, and that you avenged her death. For what it’s worth, I am sorry that you had to endure both.”

“He hates me, doesn’t he?”

The question came out before I could stop it. I should have just thanked her for her sympathies and left it at that. But no, my big mouth just had to let out the fact I was worried about what the Commander thought about me. I didn’t even really know _why_ I was worried at this point.

Her brows furrowed together as she glanced to me. “Who? Cullen?”

I nodded again, feeling a blush creeping into my cheeks. _Damnit._

She returned her eyes to the fire once more, silent for several moments before she answered me. “That…is a strong word. I would not say he hates you. Disappointed in you? Perhaps. But not hate. If he truly hated you, I do not think he would be silent about your remaining here.”

Looking down at her armored toes, she added, “If you know the Commander as well as I think you do, then you also know he is the type of man who takes the burden of every tragedy upon his shoulders. I think he blames himself for this as much or even more than he blames you. He feels he should have been able to prepare Haven for _any_ attack, with or without being warned ahead of time. I was the one who put him in charge of the security of the village. He thinks he failed me, and everyone else, by not being able to hold our base.”

“I told him then it was more than he could have ever prepared for,” I said.

She nodded. “I have told him as well. The truth of the matter is that there was nothing he could do against a dragon, even with all the preparation in the world, short of moving us to a castle…which we could not. That was what truly changed the tide of battle against us. Part of him understands. But another part of him remains in denial. And I think it always will, despite our reassurances.”

She huffed again. “But, in any case, there is no time to dwell on the past. What’s done is done, and we cannot afford to let the enemy take advantage of our vulnerability. We must find a way to move forward. Still, without the Herald here…” she trailed, and then looked back at me. “You said he would find a way out of that mess, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“But where is he?”

I gave her a small smile. “You’ll see. Have a little faith, Seeker.”

As if on cue, a chorus of shouts suddenly erupted from the edge of camp. Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine all rushed out of the war tent, searching for the source of the commotion. Soldiers and civilians both stood, pointing towards the mountain behind us, expressions of disbelief on their faces, and the whole camp stirred and buzzed with excited jabber. There, barely visible past the hazy fog that had settled over the land after the blizzard had swept through, was a flicker of Fade green, moving back and forth in the distance as if in rhythm with someone’s footsteps.

At that, Cassandra, too, rose to her feet, her dark eyes wide in realization.

I smirked. “Told you.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a moment to thank everyone for your kudos and kind comments! You all help keep me writing! :D

No one in the camp could sit still. They barely could before, but they certainly couldn’t now.

Maxwell’s name – or his title, rather – was on everyone’s lips, and his miraculous survival was the only thing anyone wanted to talk about. They had witnessed him sacrifice himself for their sake, and against all odds, they had also witnessed his return. To them, it was nothing less than a resurrection, and proof positive that he was both guided by the Maker and protected by Andraste. A good thing, as it all but clinched his position as Inquisitor.

Despite the seemingly miraculous return of the Herald, however, Maxwell was very much on death’s doorstep when he finally reached the camp, his skin as pale as the snow around him, his lips turning blue. From what I could see of him, he had completely lost both his helmet and his sword, and his armor was dented and spattered with blood, some of it his own. It was caked on the left side of his head, and black and blue bruising also covered that side of his face from his temple to his jaw. There was no telling what kind of damage he had sustained that wasn’t visible, but it was apparent to all who beheld him that he had taken quite a beating.

He was ushered into the surgeon’s tent and fussed over by the healers and lay sisters, who had braziers brought near and commandeered any blanket that could be spared. Several even gave up their cloaks and other coverings for the Herald’s sake, and he was stripped of his soaked armor and wrapped in these various mantles like a mummy. All the while, I kept to myself and out of the way, more than happy to let the advisors’ and companions’ attentions drift elsewhere and disappear for a while, just as I had when I had first arrived in this world…

Besides, I needed to make sure the spotlight remained on Maxwell, not me. And the easiest way to do that was to make myself as inconspicuous as possible by keeping my mouth shut.

An hour later, after extensive treatment, Maxwell was resting with Giselle at his side, the Revered Mother watching over him as he slept. The healers had done all they could for him, and so now, sleep was his only option. Occasionally, I saw Giselle dip her head, her lips move in silent prayer. Otherwise, though, she sat still as a statue on her stool, watching his breathing as the color slowly rose again in his cheeks and lips.

Though the advisors and Cassandra had already stormed away from at least one heated discussion before the Seeker had come to sit with me, their arguments were renewed in full now that the Herald was back, their grief and sadness and shock giving way to anger and desperation. Just as before, they had tried to keep their voices down for morale’s sake, but passions and frustrations overrode self-control, and I didn’t even have to strain to hear their debate all the way from where I sat near one of the fires.

“…must find someplace to take these poor people. We cannot wander in the wilderness forever.”

“No one here is disputing that. But where, pray tell, do you suggest that we go?”

“For all our pandering to nobility, we haven’t managed to curry enough favor for anyone to grant us any shelter out of the goodness of their hearts, have we?”

“We have the Herald of Andraste with us, now. To turn him down would be political suicide amongst the faithful who believe in him.”

“Yes, and what about the two thirds who still don’t?”

“That is true. And even if someone _did_ manage to muster the courage to help us, who would have a place large enough to comfortably accommodate two hundred or more?”

“I…do not know.”

“Right, which puts us right back where we started.”

On and on and on they went, arguing themselves into circles. I knew they were trying desperately to come up with some sort of plan, and that under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t be at each other’s throats like this. But fear and worry was turning them against each other.

Part of me wondered why they hadn’t asked for me, yet. I had anticipated that they would, if for no other reason than to give them some peace of mind. And yet, another part of me was thankful that they hadn’t. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in on the planning again so soon, not with the recent calamity still lingering in everyone’s minds. Not only that, but still another part of me suspected they now thought I was of little use to them, especially if I wasn’t going to make significant alterations to avoid disasters like Haven happening again in the future. They didn’t realize, like I did, that Haven was a one-time occurrence, and that everything would be mostly downhill from here, despite some dips and swerves at times.

A movement out of the corner of my eye returned my attention to the surgeon’s tent, and I saw Giselle slowly rise from her stool at the Herald’s bedside, presumably to give the advisors a report on the Herald’s condition. But, instead of heading to the war tent like I thought she would, the Revered Mother walked towards me. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she approached, even though she looked utterly exhausted, like everyone else in the camp. Dark circles had settled under her eyes, and her brow was yet pinched in worry, just as it had been all night.

“Lady Tamsyn,” she greeted me quietly, perching on the log next to me, “I wished to tell you…I know what you did. Back in Haven.”

My eyes widened briefly as I realized what she was referring to, and I swallowed heavily, looking down at my feet where they were crossed at the ankle. “Did the Commander tell you, too?” I asked. I hadn’t seen her in the war tent or talking with Cullen out in the open.

“No,” she said gently, shaking her head. “I knew before, when you first asked me to hold the service after the Herald’s victory against the Breach.”

I blinked in surprise. “You…did?”

She nodded, the corner of her mouth twitching a bit, as if she wanted to smile wider, but just didn’t have enough energy to summon it. “Yes. I must admit that I know little of your circumstances. But I _do_ know, like so many of us here, that our leaders look to you for guidance because they believe you have been blessed enough to know the events of this Inquisition’s future. And because of this, I felt the instant you told me that you must have approached me for a deeper reason. Not to merely suggest a few verses of the Chant be sung in the honor of the Maker and his Bride. I could not anticipate what actually transpired. But I felt wary, nonetheless, and I took your words as not a suggestion of what I _should_ have done, but what I was _required_ to do.”

I was silent, absorbing her words. I was rather stunned that she trusted me that much…like it seemed Cassandra did. Was it faith? Or merely intuition?

“I wished to thank you for what you did,” she continued after a moment, looking into the flames ahead of us. “I have overheard your peers conversing on the subject. As I understand it, a great number of us who are here now would have perished, had it not been for your foresight. You saved many lives, and because of this, it is apparent to me that the Maker sent us a blessing when he guided you to us, just as when he guided the Herald to our side. And it is apparent to many of the others here, as well.”

She sighed. “But for those who lost loved ones in spite of your efforts, they will never know why you could not save their dear ones, too. And so, they will always blame you for their tremendous loss. I have done what I can to remind the people that the Maker’s hand is in all things, especially those things that we do not understand. That before the Maker’s light could be spread across the world, Andraste herself had to be subjected to the flame. But that does not make the pain of grief any less severe, of course, and from this pain will grow resentment.” She looked back to me, adding, “It is only human.”

“And what do _you_ think, Revered Mother?” I asked, curious as to her personal thoughts on the matter. Did I not do enough in her eyes, too, despite what I _had_ managed to do?

She cocked her head at me, like she had in the Chantry that day, and she was silent for several moments before she replied gently, “I cannot fathom the burden that you carry and how heavy it must be upon your shoulders. But I do believe that the Maker sent you to us for a reason, and that you alone know how best to use your gift. Thus, I cannot judge you based on your actions, or the lack thereof, because they are based on a future I know nothing about.” She rose to her feet once more, looking down at me with something almost resembling pity in her eyes. “I can only pray that the Maker continues to guide your decisions. It is all any of us can do.”

I nodded my thanks, staring into the fire. Why did I feel as though, despite what she had said, she was still dissatisfied with my actions? Was it just my guilty conscience talking?

“I must return to the Herald, now. But know that you have my support any time you require it,” she said at length, moving away from the log and back to the surgeon’s tent with nary a sound.

As she left me to my solitude once more, I didn’t feel comforted by the conversation. Instead, I felt more ill-at-ease than ever before. It affirmed what I had been worried about earlier when I had argued with Cullen – that people were suspecting me as someone who was going to put the Inquisition into jeopardy, perhaps even on purpose. Those flames had been kindled long ago by Chancellor Roderick in his public rant against me – as evidenced by Butler’s fanatical reaction – and it seemed they would not die out after his death. If anything, they had been stoked by events at Haven, and, as Giselle had said, would only build from here, personal loss adding to the bonfire.

She was warning me…warning me that I was on thin ice, and that despite believing me to be somehow “blessed” by the Maker, I could very well find myself on my own stake and burned, just like Andraste. She was telling me outright that she was influential, but she wasn’t _that_ influential, and even though she was in my corner, she couldn’t stop a mob.

A clammy sweat coated my palms inside my gloves, and I felt like I was going to puke again.

“Hey there, Fortune Teller.”

Varric’s voice. I glanced up to see him approaching with two pewter mugs in hand, something steaming inside both. He bore a wry smile on his face as he proffered one to me. “Here, this’ll help keep you from freezing to death.”

I took it tentatively, peering inside. I wasn’t aware we had drinks in our supplies. “What is it?”

“Water,” he said flatly. “Sisters and Flissa have been melting snow and boiling it. It’s the only thing we’ve got to drink. Tastes terrible, but it’ll heat you up on the inside, at least.”

I sipped it, made a face, and then sipped again.

“So, you were right,” he said after a moment, half-sitting beside me on the end of the log. “The Herald made it back to us after all.”

“Yep,” I said simply, taking another sip.

“You know he had to,” Varric continued. “If this is a story, then this is far too soon for our protagonist to bite it. I mean, he _is_ our protagonist, right? He seems pretty convinced, from what you’ve told him. Plus, he’s got all the hallmarks of one. Unexpectedly going from wanted man to savior? Check. Possessing the sole method of saving the world from utter destruction? Check.”

“Facing down the enemy in a heroic moment of self-sacrifice?” I added.

“ _Check_ ,” both of us said at once.

That brought a brief chuckle of mirth out of him.

“Yeah, his story’s far from over,” he remarked, somewhat to himself. “The only question is, does it end in victory or tragedy? Or both?”

“My lips are sealed,” I said with a wink.

“So I gathered,” he replied quietly, my attempt at continuing the levity obviously falling flat. I watched as he took a drink and grimaced. He looked down at the ground, then, and his expression shifted to something hard and stern. “Just like they were about Haven, huh?” he said.

I blinked. Dear God, that came out of nowhere. So he was upset about me not saying anything, too. For a second, I was so stunned I didn’t even know how to react. But then, I realized he had a lot of gall to criticize _me_ for keeping my mouth shut…

Raising an eyebrow, I retorted sharply, “Because you would know all about keeping secrets for the good of those you care about, wouldn’t you, Varric Tethras? Those people you want to protect?”

His head abruptly jerked sideways as he looked at me, brown eyes wide in incredulity, and his expression betraying his thoughts before they were ever voiced. “Oh, _shit_ …”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, taking another sip from my mug and watching him over the rim with narrowed eyes. Then, lowering the cup once more, I added quietly, “I could have spilled the beans about you-know-who a long time ago. But I _chose_ not to. Because you had to see the Elder One – Corypheus – yourself, so you could be the one to make the decision to bring your old friend back into this. Now, though?” I smirked, “Now you know what you need to do, don’t you? And I don’t need to tell anyone anything myself, _do I_?”

His lips pressed together as his eyes drifted from mine. “Yeah…”

“Maybe you’ll understand how _I_ feel, now,” I said, before slamming the mug on the log with a dull _clunk_ , rising, and leaving Varric to think long and hard about what I just told him.

Head and heart both aching, I wandered from the warmth of the bonfire, then, feeling the chill of the night air envelop me as I moved only a few paces away. I relished the sting of the cold as it seeped through my jacket, helping wipe the thoughts from my mind. It was good for something, at least, despite its deadliness. I kept going past the war tent, away from the hubbub, but I slowed once I reached the very edge of the camp. There, standing by myself in ankle-deep snow, I looked up at the sky. The stars were coming out, now, twinkling brightly in the void above, only occasionally obscured by the transparent wisp of a cloud in the wake of the blizzard that had moved through an hour before. It looked like the moons were trying to peek out, too.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

My eyes snapped back open and I whirled. There was Cole, sitting on top of an old crate that had been salvaged from Haven’s Chantry. He didn’t even appear to be looking at me when he said it.

“What?” I found myself asking. Cole could read _my_ thoughts, too?

His head tilted upwards, and he peered at me with his ghostly blue eyes from under the rim of his overly-broad hat.

“‘ _I can’t understand…I can’t, but I want to…have to…_ need _to_ ,’” he recited, tapping the leather-clad heel of his foot against the crate with hollow _thunks_ that punctuated each short phrase. “He’s afraid of what you mean. For everything.”

My pulse began to race. I knew, deep inside, who he was talking about, but I had to have clarification anyway. “ _Who’s_ afraid, Cole?”

He blinked, cocking his head a little. “Cullen,” he said simply, confirming my hunch. He looked down again at the white snow under the crate, and my heart continued to pound in my throat as he went on. “Faith fragile and frail, flickering like the dying candle at the Lady’s feet. He speaks the words from memory, but he isn’t sure why anymore.” His tapping increased in speed as he closed his eyes and listened. Looking past him, I could see where Cullen had retreated to his command tent, bent over the table with a map unrolled upon it, but not actually looking at what was set before him. He seemed deep in thought, his brow furrowed in worry.

Cole’s ethereal voice returned my attention to him as he continued. “ _The aged Sister with the roll of heavy parchment, smacking my hand as punishment…the lingering sting after the strike…‘Trust in the Maker, boy, and do not question’…_ Trying and trying to trust again and trusting too much.”

I took an involuntary step back. “Oh, um…ok, Cole. I think…I think that’s enough.”

Hearing Cullen’s thoughts spilling from the spirit’s lips felt like more than a small violation of the Commander’s privacy. Still, I had to admit that it was more than a little enlightening, and I knew why Cole had done it. He was attempting, in his own unusual way, to ease my troubled mind.

But then, before I could say anything else, I heard it at last, piercing through the low hum of the campsite, demanding attention…

“ _Shadows fall,_

_and hope has fled._

_Steel your heart,_

_the dawn will come…_ ”

Mother Giselle’s smooth but powerful alto voice drew me back into the camp, as if by a thread. I found myself walking slowly, quietly, listening intently as she sang the only Thedosian hymn I knew.

_“…The night is long, and the path is dark._

_Look to the sky,_

_for one day soon,_

_the dawn will come…”_

I proceeded into the camp just enough to see Maxwell standing outside the surgeon’s tent, the Revered Mother at his side. He was watching in awe as the people began to gather near, drawn, like I was, to Giselle’s singing. The hum of activity abruptly died down, replaced temporarily by silence.

_“…The shepherd’s lost,_

_and his home is far._

_Keep to the stars,_

_the dawn will come…”_

Leliana joined, voice clear as crystal from where she sat next to Josephine outside the war tent, and then slowly but surely, the rest of the camp followed suit. Just like I had outside the Chantry in Haven that one memorable evening, I could feel their voices in my very bones as they sang, vibrating the ground beneath my feet, seemingly causing the earth itself to tremble with their power. Their _faith._ And Maxwell felt it too, olivine eyes sweeping over the crowd with both surprise and awe in their depths. Maybe something else as well, once some started kneeling before him…

_“…The night is long,_

_and the path is dark._

_Look to the sky,_

_for one day soon,_

_the dawn will come…”_

Even over the others, I could hear Cullen’s silken tenor lilting through the air as he joined just when I expected him to. I involuntarily shivered at the sound; Maker, it was beautiful, and given what Cole had just told me, it made my heart twist in my chest. At the end of the refrain, our eyes met across the camp, and I smiled at him as I joined in, too, compelled by…well, I wasn’t quite sure what, exactly.

I wasn’t a good singer. In fact, I was rather terrible at it, and it was idiocy to even contemplate singing by myself. But here, in the midst of over two hundred people lifting their voices to the heavens, I felt fairly confident I wouldn’t make anyone’s ears bleed, so long as I kept quiet enough.

_“Bare your blade,_

_and raise it high._

_Stand your ground,_

_the dawn will come._

_The night is long,_

_and the path is dark._

_Look to the sky,_

_for one day soon,_

_the dawn will come.”_

As the hymn finally drew to a triumphant close, cheers erupted from the singers. In one fell swoop, any lingering despair seemed to vanish entirely. Hope was restored with but a gentle reminder from the good Revered Mother that better days would come. That the sun would indeed rise again, even if it was hours away. I had to admit, it helped even me, and being a part of that singing somehow lifted a weight from my shoulders.

I found myself on tenterhooks afterwards, though, knowing Solas would speak to Maxwell about Skyhold soon enough. Or what we would later find out was Skyhold. But then, seconds passed. And then minutes. The Herald was still by himself, leaning on the tent post, lost in thought.

My brow furrowed, as I didn’t see the elf anywhere near Maxwell’s side, as he should have been. Glancing around, I searched and searched until I finally spotted Solas’s setup on the far side of the encampment. He sat cross-legged in the snow in front of a small fire of his own, entirely unmoving and paying absolutely no attention to anyone else around him.

He wasn’t getting up.

I waited some more, expecting him to rise at any time. And yet he did not. Instead, the elf remained sitting on the ground with his eyes closed in meditation.

_Shit!_

What the hell was he pulling?

I thought and I thought, trying to understand why Solas wasn’t talking with Maxwell now. My heartbeat pounded in my ribcage as I racked my brain. What had I done? Was it something I said? Was it because so many people lived? Was it because…wait a minute. I needed to think like Fen’harel. What would Fen’harel do about all this?

And then, suddenly, it clicked.

It was _me_. Just me. That was it.

He didn’t _have_ to tell Maxwell, because he was fully aware that _I_ knew what was going to happen next – what the Inquisition needed to do. If I just happened to tell them about Skyhold instead of him, _he_ wouldn’t have to be the one to admit to knowing the location of the castle. He was relying on _me_ to do his guidance job for him, all the while ensuring that no one figured out he was aware of the fortress’s location the whole time. At least, as long as I didn’t spill the beans and reveal his knowledge myself. Or maybe he was wanting me to lead them somewhere else entirely…

At the very least, though, I was certain that Fen’harel was hoping to use _me_ to help cover his tracks.

I gritted my teeth. If that really was the case, then there was no way I was going to let him get away with that. I knew two elven words that I prayed to God or the Maker or whatever would scare the shit out of him, just as I had scared Varric earlier. And I was going to use them, even if doing so put my own life at risk.

Steeling myself and marching across the camp, I headed straight for where the elf sat ignoring everyone around him. He heard my approach far ahead of time, opening his eyes to see me practically stomping through the snow. His brows rose as he saw me, and he slowly stood as I approached, a look of concern sweeping across his face. I wanted to slap it off of him.

“Tamsyn, is there something-”

He was cut off as I closed the space between us and leaned in, hissing so quietly that only his ears would hear.

“ _Tarasyl'an Te'las_. Show them.”

\------------------------------------------------------

Probably less than half an hour later, I stood with the rest of the advisors, Cassandra, and Maxwell at the war tent. The Herald had just finished informing everyone that Solas had found a place to take us, and that we should prepare to leave at dawn. Which was, in all actuality, only a few hours away, at this point.

“Solas tells me he has you to thank for jogging his memory, Tamsyn,” Maxwell said, nodding in acknowledgement to me. Even though he was obviously still exhausted from his ordeal, the Herald already looked much better than he had when he had first stumbled into camp, the healers’ work and the bit of rest he had gotten doing wonders. The side of his head was still heavily bruised, but the discoloration was a little less black and a little more brown and green. The blood had been cleaned from his hair and gear, the latter of which he had wasted no time in putting back on as soon as he was able.

I felt my stomach do a little flop, recalling the look on Solas’s face after I had coerced him into doing what he should have done all on his own. “I, uh…yeah. I did,” I said with a bit of a nervous chuckle.

“And did Solas tell you where, precisely, this place is?” Cassandra inquired, leaning on the table as she looked at the Herald.

“Only that it is to the north,” Maxwell replied with a sigh. “He seems to think it best left as a surprise, for some reason.”

“I see,” Cullen remarked flatly, his amber eyes flicking pointedly in my direction. Everything about his tone screamed that he was sick and tired of so-called “surprises.” And I couldn’t say I blamed him.

“In any case,” Josephine said wearily, “if we are going to be traveling again tomorrow, I suggest we try to get some sleep before we break camp.”

“Agreed,” Leliana nodded.

“And how, exactly, would you suggest we do that?” Cassandra asked. “No one has any bedrolls, and we…”

Her words were lost as mere droning in my ears as I remembered something. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw the tent where all the children huddled together. They seemed to have no problems sleeping, and neither did the husbands and wives who held each other as they sat with their backs to tent posts and crates…

“I’ve got it!” I said suddenly, an idea popping into my head. Admittedly, it was kind of a dumb idea, but it was an idea nonetheless. Something they didn’t have at the moment.

“What?”

I wordlessly rushed out, heading for my bags, which still lay, untouched, near my place by the fire. Then, running back to the war tent, I opened the large backpack and pulled out my blanket, moving to the near corner in front of a line of empty crates that had been used to transport materials from the outpost. Nearby, there was one of those fancy braziers like Cullen had had in his tent back at Haven. It was beside this brazier and before the crates that I spread the blanket out, to protect from the chill of the ground.

“Tamsyn, what are you…” Maxwell began.

I grinned mischievously, pointing to the blanket. “Cuddle pile!”

Silence. And then…

“ _No_.”

The response came from Cullen and Cassandra simultaneously, which made the rest of us look to them with expressions of slight amusement on our faces.

“So you want us to just…sit on the ground and huddle together?” Maxwell asked, his brows arching high.

I shrugged, giving him a sheepish smile. “That’s the idea, yes.” When they all blinked at me, I huffed in exasperation and tossed my hands upwards. “Look, we don’t have enough blankets or tents of our own, the bedrolls are all occupied in the surgeon’s tent for the wounded, who most certainly need them more than we do, and we can’t very well sleep in front of the fires without taking up space for other people. Not to mention it’s dangerous.” I paused, and then added, “The only other way we can safely get some rest without freezing to death is to huddle together for warmth.” Hoping to encourage them, I moved towards the crates and began unbuckling my weapons and breastplate.

“It’s…not a bad idea, really,” Josephine conceded, sparing a glance to the others.

“It’s a terrible idea,” Cassandra snorted, crossing her arms.

“I agree,” Cullen said dourly. “This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Maxwell remarked with a grin as I stowed the arms and armor into one of the crates. “I could think of worse things than cozying up to several lovely ladies for a few hours. Couldn’t you?”

That elicited a small chuckle from Leliana, “The Herald has a point.”

“Well,” I said, plopping down onto the blanket with my legs stretched out in front of me, leaning back against a crate, and patting the empty spaces to either side of me. “If no one has a better plan…”

Josephine sighed, setting her tablet on the table and blowing out the candle. “Well, I am certainly not wasting any more time debating the matter. As of now, it is our only option, and it is one of practicality, is it not?”

At that, the Ambassador neared and settled down on my left with a swish and rustle of satin, scooting close enough that others could fit on the blanket next to her if they wished. Once she relented, Leliana did so as well, silently unslinging her bow and quiver and stowing them away like I had my own weapons before sitting on Josie’s other side. That seemed to be enough encouragement for Maxwell, who removed the most uncomfortable pieces of his armor, and then inclined his head to Leliana as he approached her. “Sister Nightingale, if you don’t mind?”

“Not at all, Herald.”

He then seated himself on the edge of the blanket to the left of her. There was still plenty of space on my right, and I looked up expectantly at Cassandra and Cullen. “Come on now, be good sports.”

Leliana nodded, grinning as she glanced to me. “Yes, if we have to do this, so do you.”

“ _Ugh_.” Cassandra rubbed at her temples before sharing looks with Cullen. The way they stared so intensely at each other made it appear as though they were having some sort of telepathic duel, daring one another to make the first move.

Who ultimately yielded surprised the hell out of me.

“Fine.” Cullen sighed heavily, striding forward, unbuckling his sword belt, untying his helm, and discarding both in one of the crates behind us with a loud clatter. As he settled on my right, his tassets rattling with the movement, I looked back at Cassandra to keep from making eye contact with him, and I could have sworn I saw a glint of triumph in her dark gaze. When she finally joined us, the Seeker took her place on the other side of the Commander after removing her own sword and putting it with Cullen’s gear.

“Now,” I said, hugging my arms around my torso and pulling my hat over my eyes as I found a somewhat comfortable position, leaving the rest of them to do as they liked. “Everyone settle in, snuggle up, and try to get some shuteye before we have to move in the morning, all right?”

Afterwards, I must have listened to nearly half an hour’s worth of awkward apologies and squirming before darkness claimed me at last.

\------------------------------------------------------

When I finally awoke, it was with a slightly sweet and woodsy scent filling my nostrils and my cheek buried in something soft and warm from my body heat. An unknown heaviness pressed on my right shoulder and the top of my head, and…

…and someone’s arm was around my waist. Or maybe there were two…

It took a moment to remember how exactly I had fallen asleep the night before, and I willed myself to remain still in an effort not to wake anyone as my eyes popped open. Judging from the chorus of soft snores in my ears, everyone else piled around me was indeed still asleep…

A blur of black and russet almost completely filled my vision, my left eye the only one able to see anything else. That, coupled with the softness I felt under my right cheek, told me that I must have snuggled into Cullen’s mantle during the night. The heat that was already creeping up my neck intensified tenfold when I realized that the fragrance I smelled must have been his signature elderflower and oakmoss, and underneath those aromatic overtones was the faint and mustier odor of leather and metal and sweat.

But what was that weight on my head?

My eyes widened as I felt warm and steady puffs of breath ghosting over my ear and lightly blowing the little hairs that had come loose from my ponytail.

It was Cullen’s chin. Cullen’s chin was on top of my head.

Not only that, but I could feel where the crest of his spaulder was digging into my back as his arm was wedged between me and the crates. As my brain tracked the slight feeling of pressure through my jacket, I realized – _his_ left hand was draped loosely on top of _my_ left hip.

This was not at all what I had expected.

I swallowed, my tongue insanely dry and swollen in my mouth. Slowly and tentatively, I tilted my head down ever so slightly in an attempt to see what that additional weight around my waist was, hoping and praying all the while I didn’t disturb the Commander enough to wake him up. I paused after my movement, listening to his breathing. The soft snore that followed gave me relief, and I strained my eyes downwards, then. At first, I saw my left hand, covered by my fallen hat, resting on my thigh; my right was effectively pinned between mine and Cullen’s legs.

And then I glimpsed the shimmer of gold.

_Josie?_

It looked as though the Ambassador had turned sideways in her sleep and curled her arm around me, slipping it under mine. That must have meant that the heavy weight on my left shoulder, which rendered my whole left arm almost completely numb, was her head.

_Great._

Here I was, seemingly the only one of them awake, and there was no way on the Maker’s green earth I could extricate myself without rousing the rest of them. And I was getting hot. And extremely uncomfortable. My back was killing me, and so was my neck, and…

The weight then suddenly lifted from the top of my head as Cullen’s rolled sideways, and I stifled a surprised gasp. After a few seconds, though, he didn’t move any more, and the continued steadiness of his breathing indicated he still wasn’t close to waking fully.

_Well, at least that frees me enough to look around…_

I peered around Cullen. There was Cassandra, also curled into the Commander’s fur mantle, her mouth hanging open. Her armored hand was palm-up atop his thigh, probably where it had fallen after dropping from his chest. Looking to my left, I saw Leliana snuggled into Josie from behind, her hood half-pushed back as she had buried her head into the Ambassador’s puffed sleeve.

Maxwell, though, was gone.

My brow furrowed. Had he just woken up early, or…?

I glanced to the tent opening where pinkish light was filtering through. It was dawn. Beyond the tent, I could hear the buzzing drone of activity as the villagers and soldiers stirred and…

_Oooh…_

With my nose finally out of Cullen’s mantle, I was able to smell something other than herbs and armor. The aroma of some sort of meat roasting wafted through the tent flaps with the breeze, and my stomach began to ache with hunger, my mouth watering. The hunters must have caught some game to cook.

And then, I saw a shadow approach the entrance to the tent, and one flap opened ever-so-slightly to reveal the Herald’s dark-haired head as he peeked inside. There was a half-grin on his face as he looked at the pile of sleeping advisors, and that grin widened when his green gaze met mine. With that look, I knew he was feeling much better – he was probably quite excited about Solas’s plan and likely eager to get moving.

“ _Help me!_ ” I mouthed silently, hoping he would do something to gently stir the rest of my peers.

Eyes glittering with mischief, he shook his head and immediately ducked back out of the tent.

My mouth dropped open. Sera _had_ to be getting to him.

He was going to leave it to _me_ to wake them up, then. I would have been rather cross at him had it not been so hilariously just, in a way. After all, _I_ was the one who got myself into this mess. And now, I could get myself out.

Sighing, I gently poked at Josephine with my elbow.

“Ambassador?” I said quietly, barely above a whisper. “Ambassador Josephine…time to wake up…”

Josie groaned into my shoulder.

“I know, I know. Come on, we’ve got to get going,” I added, a little louder this time.

Another groan, and she buried herself deeper into my arm. No one else made even the slightest sign that they were awake, not even Cullen, who I could have sworn would have heard me by now. Had I not known just how exhausted they were when we fell asleep at last, I would have thought they were all in on some sort of wicked prank as revenge for my stupid idea.

At that moment, my stomach twisted with hunger, sickeningly painful, and I had enough of being quiet. Steeling myself for the reaction, I said, loudly and clearly, the only other thing I knew that would spring Josie into action besides the lure of Carastian candies…

“Josephine Cherette Montilyet, you are late for a meeting with-”

“ _WHAT?!_ ”

The Ambassador sat straight up, eyes wide and hair sticking out at odd angles from her now loose bun. Her sudden movements caused her to smack Leliana right in the face, and her shriek had Cullen lurching forward and slapping at his side for his sword, which was no longer there. This threw Cassandra rather violently off of his shoulder, and the hand which had been on my hip jerked up to whack me in the side of the head.

“ _Ow!_ ”

“Oh, no!”

“What is the-”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

The chorus of complaints and apologies stopped as abruptly as they started when everyone realized where they were.

“The Herald!” Leliana exclaimed, glancing to the empty space to her left as she vigorously rubbed the blossoming red spot on her forehead where Josephine’s knuckles had struck her.

“He’s up,” I reassured, hissing as I straightened my back and rolled my neck, at last completely free. “He refused to wake you all himself, hence why I had to do it. Sorry for the panic, by the way,” I added, smiling sheepishly at Josie, who gave me a rather flat glare as she desperately tried to smooth her hair.

“Surely you could have found some other way to wake us all,” she replied, huffing as she realized she would have to redo her whole hairstyle to make it some semblance of presentable.

“I tried!” I protested.

“Not hard enough,” Cassandra remarked dryly.

“At least you weren’t the one tangled up in the middle, Seeker,” I quipped as I pulled my hat over my head.

“It was _your_ idea,” Leliana reminded me.

“And let’s not do it again,” Cullen added sourly, wincing as he stiffly rose to his feet.

“Oh, come on,” I teased as I stood beside him, using the side of a crate for support. “You liked it and you know it.”

“I did no-”

We were cut off as Maxwell suddenly popped into the tent again. “Ah, you’re awake at last! Good!”

He entered fully, smiling broadly and glancing to each of us – and throwing a mischievous wink my way. “Everyone’s already ready to go, for the most part. We just have to break down a few more tents, including this one.” He turned to Leliana and continued, a bit more seriously, “Sister Nightingale, another outpost reached us just an hour ago with more supplies per the request of Scout Harding, and some of the hunters managed to bag a few rams, so we have more than enough food to go around.”

“That is excellent news,” Josephine breathed.

Maxwell nodded. “Suffice it to say, we’re all a bit eager to see this place Solas mentioned. He said it would be a few days before we reached it, though, even if we walked from sunrise to sunset.”

“Then we’ve no time to waste,” Cullen said, strapping his sword belt back on. Nodding to the rest of us, he added, “Let’s move.”

\------------------------------------------------------

After breaking down the remainder of the camp and grabbing a quick (and greasy) breakfast from what was left on the ram spits, we finally set out on our journey to Skyhold, with Solas and the Herald as our leaders.

For two whole days, we traveled through the Frostbacks, following the natural valleys between the towering mountains that surrounded us on all sides. From dawn until dusk, we traversed snow so blindingly bright in the sunlight that it was impossible to look at it without seeing spots. All the while, we headed steadily north-northwest, using the position of the sun in the clear sky and what maps we had for guidance. As we followed the path of least resistance, I noticed that we were, ever-so-slightly, going higher and higher in altitude, and the air was becoming thinner as we went. We persisted on nothing but leftover ram meat and boiled snowmelt, plus two nights’ worth of huddling in blankets and furs with beds of fir branches hacked from the trees around us and magically sparked fires for warmth.

Miraculously, these were also two days during which not a single soul dared to bitch about Templars or mages – not even the Templars or mages. They had somehow struck an accord, if an uneasy one, and seemingly put bad blood behind them, realizing that they were not each other’s greatest enemy anymore. Just traveling together like we were, a ragtag group of survivors with nothing but the clothes on our backs and a single thread of hope to follow, hammered the memory of the fall of Haven into our minds and etched the name of Corypheus, the Elder One, on our brains as our true foe; we were reminded of it every time we looked at each other…every time we saw the pack brontos laden with the last of the Inquisition’s supplies and every time we saw bloody bandages and soldiers carrying crippled comrades.

At last, in the early morning of the third day, we found it.

I walked on my own at the head of the group, between Solas and the Herald and the rest of the advisors and companions…well, save for Josie, who had been put atop one of the brontos to save her feet, along with a few other bootless villagers. Our two guides had disappeared around a rocky outcropping farther ahead, as they had countless times before, and I fully well expected for them to reappear again back out in the open, still walking into the valley in front of us.

But this time, Maxwell sprinted back from around the rocks, kicking up snow in clods. A grin was plastered to his face, his eyes alight.

“Commander, you have to see this!” he called, gesturing eagerly for Cullen to join him.

I looked back over my shoulder to where I knew Cullen was, and he looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Go on, Commander,” I said, waving at him to go ahead and fighting to keep from grinning myself.

He hesitated for a split second before jogging past me to catch up to the Herald, and I followed suit, my heart pounding under my sternum. I was almost trembling with excitement to see what I knew Maxwell had found, and I wondered just how Cullen was going to take this discovery. No doubt he would later wonder why neither Solas nor I had told him about _this_ either…but for now, I was hoping this would ease the sting of the loss of Haven, if only just a little bit.

We clambered up the slippery, snow-coated rocks behind Maxwell, where Solas yet stood, a small smile on the elf’s face as he nodded to each of us. The look he shared with me as I brought up the rear, however, was somewhat less amicable as that smile gradually melted away. He silently stepped aside as I brushed past him in the Commander’s wake, and I tried my best to ignore that not-so-subtle change in his expression.

“Maker’s breath!” came Cullen’s signature swear.

I finally drew up beside him and Maxwell, and my jaw dropped. There, perched atop the rocky plateau in the distance, ringed by the tallest mountains of the Frostbacks, was Skyhold. And it was more beautiful and awe-inspiring in person, even as dilapidated as it was, than I had ever anticipated. With its enormous square towers and massive stolid bridge across that perilous ravine, its might was evident even from this distance. Everything about it was a warning to potential attackers: _you shall never have me_.

“Think you can do something with that, Commander?” Maxwell asked after a moment.

Cullen nodded slowly as he held his gauntleted hand over his eyes, their irises golden in the light of the morning sun as he drank in every detail of the dawn-bathed fortress that lay before us. I watched as a hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, and I couldn’t help but do the same.

“Yes, Herald. I believe I can.”


	26. Chapter 26

An hour and a half later, I set foot on Skyhold’s bridge for the very first time.

Cullen, Solas, Maxwell and I had quickened our pace and increased the distance between us and the others, eager to see Skyhold up close. We had passed numerous tall watchtowers along the way to the castle, set as sentry posts at regular intervals on the winding road that led to Skyhold’s sole entrance. The path, which at times seemed little more than a goat trail, descended first into the flat, empty valley that would later host the Inquisition’s army, and then ascended again along the flank of the mountain we had just rounded. The fortress itself, already formidably large from the distance at which we had first glimpsed it, was even larger now, the first gatehouse looming above us. As we approached it, I realized it was a good thing the portcullises had been left open and had not fallen down with age, or we likely would have been unable to enter the stronghold at all.

I stared up at the first such gate as we passed underneath it, feeling dwarfed by it. Even with the portcullis suspended roughly halfway in its tracks, it was still a good twenty feet overhead, and this gatehouse was the smaller of the two. The blocks were in surprisingly good shape for their age…which could have been anywhere from several hundred up to a thousand years old. I attributed it partially to the dryness of the mountain climate, but the magical nature of the whole site might also have helped slow natural weathering.

“ _Wow_ …” I breathed as my eyes drifted from the gate to the stones underfoot, unable to stay silent in the presence of such awesome architecture. The bridge flagstones were solid and strong beneath our boots, our footsteps echoing around the archway above us. The others of our company were yet far enough behind us that their droning chatter couldn’t drown out the sliding crunch of grit under the soles of our feet.

“It certainly appears to be nothing short of impregnable,” Maxwell remarked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid talking too loudly would cause the whole bridge to fall apart under us. I shuddered at the thought.

“That it does,” Cullen agreed as we emerged on the other side of the gatehouse, beginning our journey across the bridge proper. “Anyone who would try and assault this place would be a madman.”

“Hence, it seems, why it has withstood the test of time as well as it has,” Solas observed, his staff tapping on the stone with every other step.

“Yes,” the Commander said, his eyes never leaving the castle before us as he continued to analyze it for defensibility and weaknesses. His brow furrowed deeply as he took in everything. “Those crumbling walls at the rear there aren’t collapsing from damage, but instead from erosion and neglect. That much is evident.”

I, however, couldn’t help but look out at the ravine over which the bridge spanned as we progressed across it, and my stomach lurched. Though the bridge itself was wide enough for two wagons to pass each other without touching, it still felt incredibly narrow and dangerous to me, especially considering there were no side walls or guard rails. I found myself wanting to hurry the others along, the fear of being suddenly blown over the side by a rogue gust of wind growing with each passing second. Part of me wondered how the people who had built this place had done so safely, first having to find a way to reach the rocky outcropping Skyhold was perched upon to begin with, and then having to build the defenses on top of it…

I swallowed as I realized that it was quite plausible that this bridge spanned a graveyard.

Maxwell, seeming to sense my anxiousness, edged a bit closer to me and remarked with a slight chuckle, “A long way down, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I squeaked, not intending for my voice to come out as constricted as it did. I wasn’t normally afraid of heights – or at least I didn’t _think_ I was – but the virtually endless drop to the valley floor below threatened to change that.

“Don’t worry, we won’t let you fall.”

I whimpered my doubt.

The moment we reached the drawbridge of the inner gatehouse was not a moment too soon. Unfortunately, I was given yet more to worry about; the drawbridge obviously spanned a gap in the stones intended to hamper would-be besiegers – if lifted, attackers wouldn’t be able to hammer against the drawbridge for a five foot long hole preventing anyone from getting close to it. Despite its great age, the drawbridge needed to be sturdy enough to support our weight – and the weight of more than two hundred behind us – for us to enter the lower courtyard safely. The four of us glanced one to the other, realizing the riskiness, before we swiftly crossed it together. All the while, I kept up a mantra in my head as our boots thudded rhythmically against the thick wood.

_Please don’t be rotted…please don’t be rotted…please don’t be rotted…_

Of course, I knew the Inquisition had to get into the castle _somehow_. But that didn’t mean some poor sod couldn’t be a victim of the fortress’s state of abandonment before everyone else realized they needed to repair something first. The game never showed the initial entering of Skyhold.

At last, however, we reached solid ground on the other side, dirt underneath our feet, and I audibly sighed my relief. No more bridges, no more iffiness. Just pure solid earth.

We were here at last.

“Does it feel…warmer, to you?” Maxwell remarked as we passed under the second portcullis and entered into Skyhold’s lower courtyard. Indeed, in just those few steps, the temperature seemed to have risen at least a few degrees, if not a dozen…enough to feel somewhat pleasant to my wind-chilled cheeks. The air seemed less thin here, too, and breathing became much easier. Birds loudly twittered their indignation at having their peaceful, unique ecosystem disturbed by us intruders, flitting away from the nearest trees with winter-dead leaves floating in their wake. Having such wildlife, trees, sparse grass, and even unmelted puddles at this altitude – whilst the rest of the mountains around us were almost entirely bare – made the specialness of Skyhold all the more apparent. Though I had seen this place countless times in my games, seeing it in person and experiencing the enigma of the fortress for myself brought a smile unbidden to my face.

“There is magic here,” Cullen said quietly, stopping as he glanced around the abandoned courtyard, his hand on the hilt of his sword. And even if I hadn’t known ahead of time that those words were true, I would have believed him. If I closed my eyes and concentrated hard enough, I could feel it myself…a hum just on the edge of perception – a soft tingling in my bones that faded the longer I stood there, acclimating to it. No doubt the constant commotion of the inhabitants would drown out the last vestiges of that sensation once the Inquisition was fully established here, blending in to the thrum of activity. But for now, with just us four here, it was definitely noticeable. I could only imagine how it felt to someone trained to detect it, like Cullen. Or to mages like Solas.

“This place is magnificent,” Maxwell breathed as we cautiously proceeded further into the courtyard, craning our necks upwards at the looming towers surrounding us and the imperious keep ahead. “How did you find out about it, Solas?”

There was but a moment’s pause. “I am certain that Tamsyn could put the situation to words better than I, Herald,” the elf finally replied, glancing my way as he leaned on his staff. “After all, she is the one who kindly reminded me of it.”

I fought to keep my face impassive as I met his gaze. His words only reinforced the hunch that he was trying to put everything off on me.

“Oh, no, Solas,” I answered with a smile. “ _You_ are the expert on this particular subject, not I. I may have known we would reach this place eventually, but you were the one who actually _found_ it, as it were.”

At that, Solas’s expression was unreadable, and Cullen loudly huffed his irritation, lips thinning as he turned around to face us. “Regardless of _who_ can explain it better, we could have stood to be informed about this place much earlier than immediately following an attack on Haven by a supposed darkspawn magister.”

“Maybe,” I conceded, crossing my arms as I looked up at him. “Or maybe after suffering great tragedy is just the right time for the Inquisition to find a place like Skyhold. Things often happen in a certain order for a reason, you know.”

“Agreed,” Solas added with a nod. “Timing is everything. Something that, as a strategist, you well realize, Commander.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Cullen sighed his resignation and continued on ahead of us, armor rattling with each step. I spared another glance to Solas, wondering where in the hell his mind was at and why he was vacillating back and forth between supportiveness and near-antagonism. I had to admit, I no earthly idea what he was up to. And I wasn’t really certain if I wanted to find out.

\------------------------------------------------------

The following hours were filled with the same organized chaos that I had learned to live with in Haven. Skyhold was explored as much as was currently possible by what scouts and engineers we had on hand. Leliana had already sent a few handfuls of her agents into the environs surrounding the castle to ensure the immediate area was safe, and that no outside force would object to our taking the citadel for ourselves. After judging much of the place perfectly habitable – the rest pending significant improvements to the existing structures – the engineers had gone about selecting appropriate buildings in the courtyard for temporary housing for all of the refugees, as well as quarters for the soldiers. Much of the main keep, it seemed, would have to be cleared of rubble and rats before it could be used for anything. And in the case of the undercroft, a rather large nest of giant spiders had to be forcibly removed by Cullen’s soldiers, the webs burned away by nothing less than the fire of Fiona’s mages.

Most of this information I gleaned from overhearing the workers and other refugees as they passed word to each other during the day. The advisors and other leaders of the Inquisition, once everyone had gathered together, had quickly split up to divvy out orders to their respective forces and take official command of this new bastion. I, on the other hand, had elected to keep my distance and merely observe, seeing as I couldn’t help with much else at the moment. Everyone had things well-in-hand at this point, and I would only be underfoot if I tried to contribute.

Cullen was busy walking what battlements were currently accessible and inspecting the towers and other defenses with one of his lead engineers. He wasn’t difficult to spot at any given moment, his armor glimmering blindingly in the sunlight wherever he stood. I watched him briefly from time to time, noting that he took only a few moments to absorb the gorgeous scenery before launching himself back into work. He had his table set up in the middle of the lower courtyard in front of the keep stairs, and it immediately functioned as his new base of operations. There he remained for much of the remainder of the day, poring over what I could only assume was reports, rosters, and maps.

Rylen, meanwhile, had taken direct control of the troops for the time being, commanding them to prepare two of the stable towers to utilize as makeshift barracks and establishing a loose patrol and guard post schedule. He divided them up two at a time, giving them torn slips of paper, presumably to use as reminders of their posts and other assignments. What soldiers weren’t put on guard rotation appeared to be busy unpacking the largest of the supplies and equipment from the brontos, and a small squad led by one of the lieutenants disappeared into the decrepit keep, ostensibly to scour the dark halls for more unsavory denizens lurking in the shadows.

Similarly, Barris, with his cadre of Templars, had taken to helping the refugees unpack food and distribute more everyday supplies, as well as clearing out rotten timbers from the courtyard and future tavern and using them for bonfires. Fiona and her mages also assisted in these tasks, at least as much as they were permitted. As conscripts, they couldn’t act as freely as they might have as full allies, and thus they mostly kept to themselves as I did, waiting for formal orders from either Cassandra or one of the other advisors. Minaeve and her Tranquil assistants stayed with them.

Leliana was fully occupied managing her ravens and penning orders, no doubt in continuous contact with her scouts in the field, as well as taking full stock of every dark corner of the castle as her agents reported back on the situation in the rest of the stronghold. Her birds flew to and from her chair-and-barrel setup with almost stunning regularity, their caws an endless, raucous song as they zoomed above our heads like ebon darts.

And between them all, in a swirl of blue and gold, was Josephine, flitting first to one of the few nobles who had lingered at Haven and survived the onslaught, then to a few of the merchants who had also been caught in the village when Corypheus had struck, then to the other leaders of the Inquisition for confirmation, and back again, all the while scribbling away on her tablet. No doubt she was taking stock of not only everyone’s immediate needs, but also their current moods and priorities; as Ambassador, she couldn’t afford _not_ to have her finger on the pulse of all levels of the Inquisition, from the servants to the noble patrons. And she certainly needed to know exactly how they felt about the Inquisition now in order to shore up its political and social weaknesses.

We had nothing with us to measure the proper passage of time, but this flurry of activity lasted well into the afternoon. People stopped their tasks only for a moment to grab a bite to eat or to take a small break near one of the fires in the courtyard. During all this, I had ultimately settled on a stool in the corner near the wall stairs beside the gatehouse, occasionally eating from what was left of the old rations Harding had given me. But once everyone seemed to finally settle down for the evening in the courtyard, towers, and armory, I found myself wandering up to the battlements to see the surrounding landscape myself.

The mountains were bathed in the orange and pink glow of the late afternoon sun, the light reflecting off of the patches of ice on the crags and the frozen river below. I had just _thought_ the mountains around Haven were tall; the peaks surrounding Skyhold were the tallest I’d ever seen in my life. I had seen the great Rockies of the United States from a distance once, when I was little, and they seemed like nothing compared to the mighty Frostbacks that cradled Skyhold like a treasured prize. They just kept going up and up and up to dizzying heights. It was a breathtakingly beautiful and awe-inspiring sight to behold, albeit stark and unforgiving. Barely a tree dotted the flanks of the white-clad peaks, and I had a feeling that there was little significant wildlife to be found here save the occasional ram or raptor bird.

I approached the crenellations cautiously, tentatively leaning against one of the weather-worn merlons. Like the bridge, there were no safeguards to protect one from falling through the crenels if one slipped or was accidentally pushed. I felt my stomach flutter a bit in anxiousness and firmly positioned myself behind the merlon, leaning into it. Strangely, I almost instantly felt better, and my brow furrowed as I ran my hand over the slanted surface of the stone before me. I could sense that distant hum of magic again, thrumming faintly… _faintly_ …below my gloved fingertips. And it seemed to reassure me.

_Safe. You are safe here._

We were. No one would be able to take this place. At least, not in the several years the Inquisition would occupy it. I took in a deep breath and steadily released it as my eyes traced the mountain range ahead of me, realizing that life would slow down a little, now. And that was a good thing. I needed time to recoup. To strategize. To think about everything that had happened recently and what I needed to do…where to go from here. Hopefully, since I didn’t plan on running around all over Thedas like the Herald, I would have that time and then some. I was perfectly happy staying right here, in this castle, from now on. There was no safer home for us all, at the moment.

And that’s what I honestly, truly wanted Skyhold to be, for as long as the Inquisition would have me. For as long as it existed. _Home_.

“It seems you had the same idea I did.”

I was suddenly broken out of my thoughts by the sound of Maxwell’s voice. I turned and looked over my shoulder to see him coming up beside me, his hands behind his back as he approached at a leisurely pace, the scale of his armor glinting in the last rays of the sunset. He casually leaned on the merlon to the right of mine and looked around at the frosty scenery before us.

“Such harsh beauty,” he said softly, shaking his head in awe at the sight. “Almost enough to make you forget that terrible night, isn’t it.”

I could feel a small smile pulling at the corner of my mouth as I nodded in agreement. “Almost.”

Silence. For several moments, there was nothing but the droning activity of the people behind us and the occasional howl of the wind as it gusted through the peaks and around the towers of the castle. Then, Maxwell turned his attention to me once more. “You said earlier that perhaps we were meant to find this place now, after what happened at Haven.”

“I did,” I said with another nod, wondering where the Herald’s thoughts were leading him.

“I was thinking about that and…” he trailed, his brow furrowing. “Back when we were still traveling here, Solas implied that this castle was waiting for someone to come along to claim it for their own.” He visibly swallowed. “Is that…that isn’t hyperbole, is it? This place was really meant for us to take and hold as our own?”

 _Ah_. So he wanted to know if the discovery of the fortress was truly fate. Sighing, I glanced to the mountains, and then replied, “Well, more or less, it was. It’s obviously been abandoned for a long time, and so it’s actually been free for the taking ever since it was last vacated. But the very fact it was empty when we needed it most…” I shrugged. “Think of it how you like. But it does look like we were meant to be here, doesn’t it?”

His gaze drifted to the landscape again. “I can’t describe how it feels,” he clapped a hand firmly to the merlon, closing his eyes as his fingers spread against the stone. “How _being_ here feels. Everything about this place…it seems… _right_.” He opened his eyes again and squinted as he stared into the distance, and I knew he wasn’t actively concentrating on the scenery now as he gathered his thoughts. “Up until now, I was beginning to doubt the Maker had a hand in anything at all. Everything seemed entirely up to chance,” he tossed his hands upwards. “Mere luck. But now, after being guided to this place and being presented with a new beginning in the face of this enemy we have – a second chance for most, and a third for me – I’m not sure I can convince myself all this is merely coincidence anymore.”

I didn’t say anything to that, but I couldn’t help but smile at his words. Maybe his faith was strengthening, now, and with it, his courage. I sensed he might be undergoing a spiritual awakening of sorts, much like many of the refugees were experiencing, and one that was absolutely required if he was going to take the mantle of Inquisitor, which he needed to take very soon.

After a few more quiet moments, Maxwell continued with a heavy sigh. “You’ve probably already heard this before, and I know you must be tired of hearing it by now, but no one, including myself, wants to believe that people had to die to get us here, to this point….that it was somehow necessary. That death and destruction was the Maker’s will.” He shook his head, “Is it even possible to accept? I don’t know. But, for my part, after finding out what could have happened _without_ your help at Haven, I don’t think I can criticize you for what you did or didn’t do, regardless of the losses we still suffered.”

I felt my brow furrow at his words. It sounded like he was trying to reassure me that he didn’t hold anything against me, even though Haven was still a bitter pill to swallow, especially after what he had to suffer to get out of that mess. But knowing his character and that of the others, and the reactions everyone had had already, it was something that, honestly, seemed to be too good to be true. Perhaps he was merely trying to put the past in the past, regardless of how he really felt? Forcibly move on?

I smirked. “Did you decide that before or after Mother Giselle talked to you?”

He met my gaze, then, a curious expression flashing across his face. “You do not believe me to be speaking the truth about how I feel on the matter?”

I swallowed a hard lump in my throat as I looked away, my eyes fixating on the merlon in front of me. “It’s easier to believe that everyone is going to be upset with me all the time, regardless of what I do. Because it’s what makes the most sense. You should be yelling at me like the Commander did,” I said. “You should be telling me I didn’t do enough. Because I didn’t.”

Another sigh. “I am not angry with you for what happened. As a matter of fact, I feel…” I trailed, struggling to find the words. “Well, I’m not sure how I feel, precisely.” He looked down at the stone and absentmindedly brushed off some grit from its surface. “Ever since the Conclave, my life has been more or less out of my hands. I’ve been following the whims of the Inquisition because it’s the only thing I _can_ do. I don’t remember what happened during the Conclave, and I’m certain I had no purpose being there other than to represent my family’s interests. Afterwards, even after I was exonerated by Cassandra, it seemed only right that I stay and try to pick up the pieces. To do what I could to make things right in case I really _did_ do something wrong I didn’t remember doing.” He looked down at his Anchored hand, then, and even though the Mark didn’t shine through his glove, I knew he could feel it there. “And that was before you ever came along.”

He half chuckled, a look of amusement crossing his features. “Then, after the Breach was finally closed, I had hoped to get something of a break. Maybe a chance to breathe and reorient myself…to think about what I was doing here and where I wanted to go with it all. I remember you telling me I would be in opposition to the Elder One you informed us about – and who I heard about again in the dark future at Redcliffe – but I had no idea it would be so soon. And now, I am, apparently, his ultimate nemesis. Because I _somehow_ unwittingly took his primary way of reaching the Black City again.”

He sighed once more and ran a hand through his thick hair. “All of that is to say, everything that has happened to me in the past few months, whether you were here or not, has been entirely out of my control…unexpected, filled with surprises, and heaping more responsibility on my shoulders than I could have ever wanted in my entire life. Honestly,” he shrugged, “what you say and do at this point has little to no effect on how I feel about any of this, because I have a feeling the results would be the same for me no matter what you tell us. I’m a leaf drifting in a storm…going wherever I’m taken. And Maker’s guidance or no, I have no idea if any of my control will ever be regained, at this point.”

I winced, knowing that being Inquisitor was just going to make him feel worse about the lack of control over his life. Damn my stupid hyper fixation on my own despondency; the Herald needed some reassurance, himself. I was about to open my mouth to do just that when, at the edge of my peripheral vision, I saw a scout approaching us from the direction of the wall stairs. I turned to him, and periwinkle eyes gave him away as Jim.

“Lady Tamsyn,” he said, a little breathlessly as he nodded respectfully in my direction. “You’ve been summoned for a meeting with the other advisors, immediately. And um,” he looked to Maxwell, adding, “they told me to tell you your presence wasn’t required, Herald.”

Maxwell’s brows rose. “I see. I can only assume it doesn’t involve rifts or Corypheus, then. Well,” he clapped his hand on my shoulder with a broad smile, “best not keep them waiting, right Tamsyn?”

_Wonder if that’s code for ‘sucks to be you.’_

I chuckled. “Right. See you later, Herald.”

“And you, Tamsyn.”

With that, I turned and followed Jim, who led me from the wall and into the courtyard. As I left the Herald behind on the battlements, I wondered what this meeting was all about. We kept going, passing through the throng of loitering refugees and not stopping until we neared where the advisors and Cassandra waited by the door that led to what would soon become the Inquisition’s prison. Jim wordlessly gestured ahead at them with a small bow and then spun on his heel to go back where we had just come from, presumably to fulfill another set of orders. I continued on, approaching the advisors with a tentative smile.

“You, uh, sent for me?”

Cassandra nodded, gesturing for me to come nearer. “We did. Come, let us speak in private.”

They turned and headed into the would-be prison, and I followed closely on their heels. Cullen held the door open for the rest of us before bringing up the rear, and our footsteps were loud on the dank steps as we carefully descended the stairwell. It was not unlike our recent escape through the Chantry dungeon, and memories of our flight from Haven briefly flashed through my thoughts as we continued down the stairs. Torches had apparently already been lit by the scouts or soldiers, and moisture shone on the walls, and there were patches of lichen clinging to the smooth stone. The temperature dropped steadily as we went, and I shivered involuntarily, though the sound of my breath was already almost drowned out by the distant roar of the waterfall under the castle.

When we finally came to a halt in the cell room, spreading out into a rough circle, I glanced to the others. “So, what’s this all about?” My voice echoed rather obnoxiously against the stone, and I grimaced at the sound.

Cassandra sighed, crossing her arms and shifting her weight onto one foot. “I will get straight to the point. Now that we have a base of operations again, we agreed we needed to resolve a rather important matter. There is much that must be done before we can decide where the Inquisition will go from here, but the most imperative is to choose an Inquisitor.”

“We need a leader,” Cullen continued, draping his hand casually over the pommel of his sword as he spoke. “Someone who can direct our efforts. It isn’t that we cannot handle various situations on our own. We most certainly can. But we all have our different ways of approaching matters, and sometimes we can only agree to disagree.”

“Which gets us nowhere,” Cassandra observed.

“As is only natural, we are all committed to our own ways of solving problems,” Josephine elaborated. “And there will always be issues that arise outside of our areas of expertise.”

“In short,” Leliana summarized, pulling her hands behind her back as she usually did during these meetings, “we each realize that none of us here can be the Inquisitor, due to these simple facts: we are too focused in our methods, and we do not have the public personas and backgrounds required for such a position.”

“And some of us simply do not desire the responsibility for ourselves,” Josephine said with a pointed glance in Cassandra’s direction.

The Seeker briefly caught the Ambassador’s gaze and offered her a sharp glare in return before addressing me. “That leaves only two others who could possibly be our leader. You, or the Herald.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise as I glanced between them. They were actually putting _me_ in the running? Oh, no. No, no, no…that wasn’t going to happen. Not in a million years.

“Both of you have been instrumental in the decision-making at the war table,” Josephine explained, a small smile pulling at her lips as she turned to me. “You, Lady Tamsyn, have given us guidance and reassurance, because you know what is to come. And Lord Trevelyan has made the choices needed in order for us to proceed with our mission.”

“It is obvious, then, that without the both of you, we would not be where we are,” Leliana continued. “Thus, you are both the closest things we have to a leader, right now.”

“But before we start discussing our possibilities further, is there anything you would like to make us aware of, at this point?” Cullen asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other with a slight jingle of metal and chain.

“Yes, I do,” I said firmly, bent on ending my candidacy immediately. “The Herald must be the Inquisitor.”

Leliana smirked as she exchanged knowing looks with Cassandra. “I told you she would say that.”

“We anticipated that would be your answer,” Josephine echoed. “Although, might I ask the reason why you eliminate yourself so quickly?”

I sighed. “You know why. You already said it earlier. The Herald has been the one ultimately making the decisions around here.” I looked at them each in turn as I continued, recalling my old conversation with Iron Bull. “It’s _his_ neck that’s been stuck out time and again. It’s the _Herald_ the people want to talk to. It’s the _Herald_ that has been the face of the Inquisition the whole time. And now the people see him, practically without a doubt, as a man who has been guided by the Maker not once, but twice. You saw them kneel before him at the camp days ago. There isn’t any doubt who must be the Inquisitor…who has already been the Inquisitor all along, just without the formal title.”

“And, if given encouragement, you still wouldn’t take the position yourself instead?” Cullen inquired, his golden gaze piercing as it met mine, unquestionably judging me and everything I said.

I shook my head emphatically. “No. Definitely not. I am _not_ a leader. There’s no way this bumbling mess could be a successful Inquisitor. Trust me, in my whole time in Thedas, even with me knowing about the position being up for grabs, I’ve never wanted it for myself. Never once thought of having it.” I tossed my hands upwards. “Look, I can barely handle what responsibilities I _do_ have. I’m more than happy to just keep doing what I’ve been doing. Even if it _does_ draw a little ire from time to time.”

They all looked at each other, and then Cassandra nodded. “Then it is decided.”

“I will make the arrangements for the coronation immediately,” Josephine said, rapidly scribbling notes on her tablet, her thin black quill feather bobbing violently with the movement of her hand.

“We can have the ceremony tomorrow, if he is willing,” Cassandra proposed.

“He must be,” I said simply. “The Herald of Andraste _must_ be the Inquisitor, else we will fail. That’s just that. And it falls to you to convince him to say yes.”

“Also,” Cullen interjected. “We mustn’t forget our plans to investigate this so-called army of demons that the Elder One wishes to employ. As soon as we have the coronation ceremony out of the way, we will need to make arrangements to address this threat before it can be used against us.”

“ _And_ the possible assassination of the Empress.” Leliana added as she nodded her agreement. “Both of these dangers could easily spell the end of Thedas should the Elder One manage to enact them. Despite this new haven of ours, we are still very vulnerable.”

“I have already sent messengers to warn the Empress of the threat upon her life,” Josephine replied. “Though…I have yet to hear back from them. I know there are naturally delays, sometimes, but I must admit that the lack of communication regarding this issue is worrisome.”

“I will have my agents follow up,” Leliana said.

“And what of Dennet’s horses?” Cullen asked, turning to the Ambassador. “I do realize you said it would be some weeks before they were ready for travel, but…”

“Oh, that’s right!” Josephine exclaimed, scribbling more notes. “I will need to send a raven to tell him to reroute to Skyhold. He has yet to begin transport of the mounts, but the last I heard, he should be ready to bring them very soon. I will need to let him know where we have gone in the aftermath of the attack.”

“We’ll also need to inform our merchant caravans of our change in location,” Leliana observed with a sigh. “I have a feeling our messengers will be running themselves silly for the next few days.”

“Speaking of merchants,” Cassandra added, “we will also need to secure a steady supply of lyrium for the Templars. Ser Barris informed me they have a cache that will last for roughly two more weeks, but after that, they will need access to more.”

Josephine’s pen scribbled again to take note of the request. Once she finally finished, she drew a deep breath. “Well, that is…certainly quite a lot to accomplish.”

“And we have no time to waste,” Cassandra said firmly. “This Elder One will find out where we have gone, sooner or later, and we must not let the monster gain the upper hand. If we do, we are doomed.”

\------------------------------------------------------

When we emerged from the dungeon after the meeting, I noticed that nighttime was quickly falling over Skyhold. Several more fires had been built from the broken wood scavenged from around the castle, and it was around them that most of the people gathered, eating what was left of the ram and rations that had been distributed amongst them. The sky above was fading from lavender to deep navy, and the stars and moons were beginning to shine brightly upon the castle. Even though the fortress itself was warmer than the outside world, it was still chilly after the sun dipped below the mountains, and everyone pulled out blankets to wrap around themselves as they talked and listened to Maryden play cheerful tunes.

Vivienne, I noticed, was leaning back on the wall of the keep stairs, a little away from one of these fires, her dark eyes distant as though she was lost in thought. Realizing I hadn’t spoken to the Knight-Enchanter in a while, I decided to head her way, curious as to what the Iron Lady was thinking of right now.

“Hello, my dear,” she said as she regarded my approach. If she was weary at all, I wouldn’t have known it, as she yet carried herself with quiet and indomitable grace, her face a mask of calm stoicism. “How are you faring?”

“Well enough,” I said, watching as the other advisors passed me by and quickly dispersed amongst the crowd. “Honestly, it could be a lot worse.”

“Of course it could, darling,” she said with a nod of agreement. Then, pausing, she added, “I won’t waste my breath repeating what you are already well aware of. But suffice it to say, there is more than enough blame being thrown around here, and more guilt being shouldered than is either necessary or appropriate.” She looked at me pointedly, and I very nearly wilted under her sharp stare, knowing she meant me, too. “We mustn’t waste our precious energy bickering amongst ourselves about whose fault the fall of Haven was. That gives our foe an advantage we cannot afford for him to have.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It does.”

“The most important thing we learned from Haven was the name of our enemy,” she continued. “Now that we know it, the people finally have a target upon which to focus their righteous anger, for first the death of the Divine and now the loss of their home and loved ones. And focus it we must. But, for now,” her expression melted from one of sternness to one of kindness faster almost than I could register, “I would advise that you try to get some better rest, tonight. We can worry about all this more tomorrow.”

“Oh, well,” I replied awkwardly, “Yes, we can.”

She smiled, “Oh, and Tamsyn? A word of advice.” She gestured to my uniform, “In the morning, do consider changing into something more presentable. I’m sure the laundresses could see to that for you.”

I glanced down at myself, suddenly very aware of the blood stains on my gloves, a few small spatters of it on my sleeves, and the mud caking my boots. Grinning sheepishly, I nodded. “Right. I’ll uh…I’ll do that. Good night, Lady Vivienne.”

“Good night, my dear.”

And with that, I quickly turned away, feeling the Enchanter’s eyes on my back as I skirted the edge of the crowd. _Trust Madame de Fer to criticize the condition of the outfit I’d worn into battle and think my first priority should be to see it cleaned_ , I thought.

I hadn’t gone very far, though, before I saw Blackwall standing with arms crossed somewhat apart from the rest of the group, his eyes occasionally scanning the throng of people. Like Vivienne, he seemed lost in thought, although he glanced my way when I approached.

“Ah, Lady Tamsyn,” he said, dipping his head in polite greeting. “Do you need something?”

“Not really,” I said, briefly glancing to the multitude of refugees around the nearest fire. “I suppose I’m just checking in with some people who are free. Seeing how everyone is doing, that sort of thing. There’s not much else to do at this point.”

“I see. I’m as well as I can be, all things considered,” he replied. “What about you? Word is you’ve been taking some heat for your decisions. Or the lack thereof.”

_Ugh…_

“Word travels fast with this bunch,” I muttered.

“Hah,” he barked in amusement. “That it does.”

“I’m all right, I suppose,” I said with a sigh. “A little unsure of myself, if I’m honest. But all right.”

He grunted and nodded as he absorbed my answer. “I’ll admit…I’m not certain what to think about recent events and your role in them. But I can’t know what’s going on in your head, or why you’ve said the things you have and kept silent about the rest. And because of that, I honestly can’t say one damned thing to you about it. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I,” I said quietly.

“What I _can_ say is that fucking darkspawn is going to pay a heavy price for what he did,” he continued darkly. “You look at these people,” he pointed at them, “and you see vengeance in their eyes. He thinks he’s going to be a god?” He shook his head, “He’s going to have to cut down every last one of us in order to make that happen. Including me.”

There was a moment of silence, and he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Ah, but that’s going to have to wait until at least tomorrow, isn’t it? For now, if there’s nothing else, I think I’m going to grab something to eat. If you find yourself hungry, you’re welcome to join me.”

I smiled at his kind invitation. “Thanks, Blackwall.”

“Sure thing, milady.”

He melted into the crowd then, seeking out his supper, and I continued on my journey around the edge of the crowd, searching for someplace to light for a while. Near the dilapidated building that would soon become the Herald’s Rest, Iron Bull and his Chargers were immersed in a card game, sitting atop small crates that had been dragged up to overturned barrels. Above them, her legs dangling from the half-rotten roof of the soon-to-be tavern, was Sera, watching the game with a half-smile on her face. Not far away, off to himself, was Varric, busily writing away on folded parchment that had been spread out atop another barrel, his head in one hand as the other paused its scrawling. A raven waited to be given its burden, perched on the barrel’s rim.

Curious as to what the dwarf might be up to with such a serious expression on his face, I cautiously approached him. “Hey, Varric,” I greeted him tentatively. I wasn’t sure how he was going to take my presence after I had essentially threatened him and bit his head off a few nights ago.

He glanced up. “Oh…hey, Fortune Teller.” His tone was weary and slightly irritated.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Doing what I know I need to do,” he replied gruffly, returning his attention to the paper after echoing my words from that night.

“Ah,” I said, realizing he meant he was writing to Hawke. I briefly wondered just how close the Champion was and how quickly they could get here. Deciding not to say anything more, I turned to go elsewhere, when I suddenly heard him speak again.

“Just…tell me one thing, Tamsyn.”

I glanced back. “What’s that?”

“I’m not going to regret this later, am I?”

I paused, thinking about the events to come. Then, giving him a shrug and a shake of my head, I replied honestly, “I don’t know, really.”

“Figures,” was the muttered reply as he put his face back in his hand.

“Hey,” I smirked. “I just tell you about the choices you can make and their possible consequences. I can’t tell you whether or not you’ll actually feel good about them later.”

That finally made a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth, but only briefly. Taking it as my cue to leave at last, I turned away again and looked for the stool I had left by the wall stairs, wondering if it was still vacant…

I didn’t have time to find out, though, because I was suddenly approached by Solas, who materialized out of the throng of people to approach me.

_Crap._

“Tamsyn, might I have a word?”

_Double crap._

“Sure,” I said with a smile, hoping it didn’t appear too forced.

With nerves clenching in my stomach like a vice, I followed the elf to a somewhat secluded area beside the armory, where we could talk without being disturbed. It was much darker this far away from the central fires, and Solas’s greyish eyes glittered strangely in the paler light of the moons. His cream-colored tunic nearly glowed even in the dim lighting, but his features were thrown into high relief with sharp shadows, lending him an almost malevolent appearance. I did notice that he had come without his staff; was that meant to be a reassurance, I wondered?

“So, what’s on your mind, Solas?” I asked, eager to get this little meeting over with.

“Firstly, I wish to apologize for any brusqueness I might have displayed towards you in the past few days,” he began.

My brows rose. “Really?”

He smiled a little. “I was surprised that you knew of this place at all, even considering the substantial amount of information you seem to have about the future of the Inquisition. I must admit, I was slightly suspicious of how you might have discovered Skyhold and its elven connections, especially considering I had only just discovered its location in dreams, myself. I suppose I found it all rather…coincidental.”

 _Sure you did_ , I thought. No, it was more like he was worried just how much I knew regarding those elven connections. And him. But he was dancing all around that part…

“I am curious, however,” he continued. “Why did you not merely tell the advisors yourself, if you did indeed know about Skyhold all along?” Pausing, he added hastily, “And I do not mean to pass judgment on you for not doing so. I simply wonder why you insisted I be the one to inform the Herald of the castle’s location.”

I swallowed.

“Oh, well,” I stalled a bit, struggling to think of what to say under this sudden pressure and feeling certain I was going to start sweating any minute now. “You have a role to play in this, too, Solas. And finding Skyhold is all part of it.” I gestured to him to emphasize my words as I barreled on. “The people needed to see you and the Herald leading them to this place, not me. That was a rather important thing, really. And I was just aware you found it in dreams and wanted to give credit where credit is due.”

He studied me for a moment before replying, “I see. In any case, I respect your decision to subtly direct the Inquisition, rather than take the reins yourself. It is, perhaps, a much less damaging way to approach the situation.”

I grinned a little nervously, tucking a stray curl behind one ear. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

He nodded, seemingly in acceptance. “Well, that is all I wished ask you about, unless you have something else you wish to discuss?” He raised one brow quizzically.

“Oh, not at all!” I said, “Don’t let me keep you.”

“Of course,” he answered. “I am glad we were able to clear the air on a few things. Until next time, Tamsyn.”

“Good night, Solas.”

I watched, then, until he disappeared into the crowd once more, and as soon as he was out of sight, I felt like I was going to pass out right where I stood.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long to update! My muse went on hiatus for a while. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

Following a meager supper, I slept that night in the would-be armory, curled up in one of the far corners. Or, at least, I _tried_ to sleep. Rather unsuccessfully. I had hoped the outcome would be the same as when I had slept all huddled up with the other advisors, too exhausted to be roused by anything other than outright yelling.

Alas, that was not the case.

I shared the large room with at least half of the other refugees, including the Chantry sisters and the children, which made for a situation not unlike the very first night I spent in Thedas and resulted in the exact same burning desire for a pair of earplugs. What with the chorus of snores and the nigh-endless fretting of the young ones, it was a miserably restless night, and I ultimately rose before dawn, feeling worse than I had before I attempted to go to sleep.

I wasn’t alone in my agony, however, and by the time I had gotten fed up with waiting for dawn to break, several of the other refugees had already left the building, creating gaps in between the snoring bodies of the others who yet remained lying on the floor. I tried to be as courteous as I could, weaving carefully around these people on tiptoe and hugging the wall as much as possible before finally slipping through one of the doors to find a place to change clothes. Even though I hated to admit it, Vivienne was right – my uniform was in a sad state after all that fighting and traveling through snow and mud, and as part of the upper tier of the Inquisition, I had to keep up appearances as much as I was able…at the very least to help establish some sense of normalcy for everyone else.

After hunting and hunting for a secluded place to undress, I finally managed to find a dark and unoccupied building near one of the towers – probably the future surgeon’s wing, if I remembered right. I closed the creaking door behind me and found that I could see just fine through a hole in the roof. Stripping down as fast as I could, I quickly threw on my chemise and surcoat, swapping my uniform boots for the other, smaller pair that originally went with my tunic. The outfit was a little wrinkled from having been stuffed so tightly into my pack and kept there for days, but it looked better than I had expected. I wasn’t anticipating a fight being drawn here, and perhaps my changing into a dress would be a comforting sign to the others that we could relax just a bit.

_Now I just need a bath…_

But there was little chance of that anytime soon.

I had to do some rearranging to fit my weapons and breastplate into my pack; Willem’s sword and my bow stuck out of the open top, and I had to tie my quiver to the straps on the bottom. Finally, though, I managed to make it work. I really needed someplace to keep my belongings so I didn’t have to haul them everywhere I went.

When I emerged at last with my hair combed, a fresh change of clothes on, and my dirty uniform in my hands, I began my next small quest that morning – the search for the laundresses. After a few minutes of looking around the courtyard, I finally found my target near one of the bonfires that had been tended to throughout the night. There stood a group of women and a few children, piling garments and other pieces of cloth onto a pile next to a giant tub, gathering everything together that needed to be cleaned. As I gratefully dropped off my uniform with them, I wondered what exactly we were going to do about a reliable water supply…

It was a fact that, on top of everything else, we needed to quickly establish an efficient system for washing clothing and other fabrics, and this was connected to the rather immediate need for bathing and waste management…something that, just going off of what I knew from the game, seemed to be something of a conundrum – there had been no latrines in the in-game version of Skyhold. Of course, this was because they weren’t required in a game where no one ever went to the bathroom. But they were most certainly needed in real life, and with over two hundred people within these walls, they were needed _right now_.

Fortunately, others had already long been on top of that issue, and for that, I was extremely glad.

According to what bits I learned from those who were already awake and active that morning, Skyhold had something akin to garderobes already built into the castle. Each tower had one of these small closet toilets, which apparently emptied into the running water beneath the fortress’s foundation, which was released with the waterfall under the prison. This was, from what I understood, the outlet for a massive hot spring, something which was rather shrewdly suggested might be a contributing factor to the unique ecosystem of the castle. It wasn’t exactly the greatest thing to think about – human waste being dumped down the mountain like that – but at least it was more sanitary than a stagnant moat or cesspits.

In addition to carrying the waste of the inhabitants away from the castle, the spring underneath the mountain also supplied the fresh water for the occupants’ usage, drawn from the source itself _upstream_ from the waste management, of course. An intact manual pumping station for this hot water was adjacent to what had been settled on as the kitchens, and it was from this still-functioning pump that servants now busied themselves bringing water for washing the clothes of the refugees, forming a loose line of people weaving in and out between the workers and soldiers and stonemasons.

Suffice it to say, with all that activity in the courtyard, it was difficult to find any familiar faces to talk to. I occasionally glimpsed one of the Herald’s companions, either helping with more lifting and fetching or standing idle with a piece of old dried meat or hardtack in hand. But mostly, the swarm of people around me was comprised of serving men and women and other construction workers busy attempting to transform Skyhold into a suitable place to live, bit by bit, piece by piece. There really wasn’t much left for me to do but to watch, stay out of the way, and be ready in case the other advisors, Maxwell, or Cassandra needed me.

At roughly midmorning, however, I sensed something was afoot. There were expressions of excitement and curiosity on everyone’s faces as Inquisition scouts suddenly materialized throughout the crowd of people, gathering the attention of anyone who was available to listen. I soon realized I was witnessing the preparations for Maxwell’s coronation as Inquisitor. I wasn’t sure if those informed knew that was the planned event, yet, and no one had approached me specifically to explain anything. But whatever they had been told sent a spark of energy rippling through the throng of people, and the air had become thick with anticipation.

And then, I saw the advisors group together on their own near Cullen’s command table, speaking almost in a huddle before catching the attention of Maxwell, who had emerged from one of the guardrooms flanking the gatehouse. It was just like the cutscene from the game, and I couldn’t help but feel odd at the precise replication of it.

 _Here it comes_ , I thought. This event would change the course of Thedas forever, and I was about to be witness to it. For real, this time.

Deciding to get out of the courtyard and find a better position from which to watch the impending show, I picked up my skirts and headed to the walls beside the crumbled future tavern. I then mounted the wall stairs and quickly climbed to the battlements where I could observe the coronation more clearly. Already, I felt less stifled and more comfortable, able to breathe easier; bad memories of being nearly suffocated at the celebration at Haven had surfaced in my mind as the people slowly assembled for the ceremony, and I had no desire to repeat such a situation again.

Before long, Cullen’s soldiers began to gather together, followed by the general citizenry, who chattered away excitedly, obviously wondering what was about to occur or what they were going to be told. I saw everyone spilling out from the towers and the walls and the cleared buildings in the courtyard, even the kitchen of the keep. They all congregated as Leliana took her place on the landing of the keep stairs, the ceremonial sword of the Inquisition lying flat in her gloved hands.

I watched as Cassandra led Maxwell up the stairs to where the Nightingale stood waiting. Though they were talking, I couldn’t hear what they were saying from this distance. Briefly glancing back down at the crowd, I saw Cullen and Josephine already standing with the soldiers and citizens. A chorus of gasps rippled through that crowd as Leliana slowly approached and proffered the sword to Maxwell, who looked completely and utterly shell-shocked as the people fell silent around him. For a moment, I wondered where in the world the Nightingale had gotten the blade to start with, but then I recalled that massive lockbox Josie had rescued from her office during our flight from Haven, and I realized it must have been in there…

Even with the wind that almost perpetually howled around the walls, it seemed it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop in the courtyard below. Maxwell tentatively passed his fingers over the hilt of the ceremonial sword before he finally took it in hand, watching as the silver of the blade shimmered in the morning light. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, no doubt waiting for him to say something inspirational. The Herald cast his olivine gaze over his rapt audience, appearing to steel himself as he took a deep breath.

“This Inquisition has always been about protecting the innocent people of Thedas,” he said, his voice ringing loud and clear on the stones of the fortress, the subsequent echo of his words cementing his speech as a proclamation, a vow. “And it will always be such. We must stand together in the face of this evil, for the sake of our families, and our homes…for the sake of our world. No longer is this about mages and Templars,” I noticed he picked out Fiona and Barris in the crowd at that, “no longer is this merely about retribution for the Conclave or the murder of the Divine. This is war, and it is war against a darkspawn with every intention of becoming a god and with the power to destroy the entirety of Thedas. It falls to us to ensure that he does not succeed.”

He paused for a moment, and he briefly glanced my way. I wondered what had made him able to find me so swiftly, with me being so far out of the way as I was. But then I remembered I was wearing a red surcoat; of course he’d be able to see me with ease. I smiled as encouragingly as I could when he turned my way, giving him a small thumbs-up.

Maxwell hefted the sword in hand, then, speaking almost to it instead of the crowd as his attention drifted away from me once more. “You have all put great faith in me as your Herald,” he said, his voice retaining its strength as he continued. “And as your Inquisitor, I will do my best to make sure that your faith hasn’t been misplaced. I will lead us to victory against Corypheus, and together, we will bring peace to our troubled land.”

My brows rose. That was indeed an inspiring little speech for such a tentative Herald…and it must have been exactly what everyone needed and wanted to hear, because Cassandra was beaming, and I could tell Leliana was smiling even from where I stood on the walls. Maxwell glanced between the two women, as if looking for confirmation that he had done the right thing, and the Seeker herself stepped forth to address Josephine.

“Have the people been told?”

“They have!” the Ambassador called over the noise of the crowd, which had begun to stir again in excitement, “And soon, the world!”

“Commander, will they follow?”

Cullen immediately spun to the audience behind him, which had packed between the stairs and the gates like sardines. It was then I noticed his breastplate was in place once more, as it flashed brilliantly in the sun with his sudden movement.

“Inquisition, will you follow?” he asked, pacing in front of them like a great cat, each subsequent question stirring them up into a near frenzy as they roared their responses. It was difficult not to let myself get caught up in that excitement. I could feel the energy vibrating in my bones, and I held my hands behind my back to keep them still.

“Will you fight?”

Another roar, fists pumping into the air.

“Will we triumph?”

The shouting was almost deafening, now, even from where I was, and I wondered how in the world the Ambassador and Commander could stand being so close to the source. Josephine was grinning from ear to ear with pride as she watched Cullen draw his sword, the sound of it drowned out by the crowd.

“I give you your leader, your Herald, _your Inquisitor!_ ”

He spun back and saluted Maxwell with blade thrust skyward, and the people went _insane_ with cheers and whoops as the Herald answered with his own ceremonial sword in a mirrored gesture. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at that point, immensely proud for Maxwell and knowing that, even if he might feel hesitant about this new role so abruptly bestowed upon him, I knew this kind of support from the people would help give him the strength he needed. I grinned so broadly my cheeks hurt, and as the audience clapped for their new Inquisitor, I clapped with them, offering my own congratulations, even if they were lost in the din.

 _“In-quis-i-tor! In-quis-i-tor!”_ the people chanted over and over, the mountains around us ringing with the sound.

_Take that, Corypheus._

\------------------------------------------------------

I let the crowd disperse and the advisors and Maxwell disappear within the keep for a while before I decided to leave the walls and the courtyard – no use fighting that mess, and I wanted to make sure Varric had time to speak to others without me interrupting them; I glimpsed the dwarf following the small group towards the main hall, and I knew he’d be dropping hints about Hawke’s impending arrival before long. I briefly wondered if the Champion had already arrived and had somehow managed to enter the castle unnoticed…

After a half hour or so, though, I thought it pertinent to begin familiarizing myself with the innards of Skyhold, so I wouldn’t be quite so lost later on if I needed to move anywhere quickly. Climbing the steps of the fortress’s keep felt almost fateful as I approached the yawning doorway into the hall, and I found myself in awe of the place once more. When I entered the throne room at last, my eyes slowly adjusting to the awkward lighting, I noticed that the other advisors, Maxwell, and Cassandra were nowhere to be found, likely having already headed to the war room or somewhere else…maybe even the undercroft. I was slightly thankful for this situation, as it left me free to do what I liked for the time being.

And so I did.

The tall glass windows at the rear of the hall had cracks spiderwebbing across them and were smoky with dust, shattered panes fallen out and glittering like diamond shards on the floor in the light of the sun. One of the large, antique chandeliers was still occupying the middle of the floor, rusted, too heavy to be moved by just one person. An ancient rug on the dais, dulled by time, was filled with holes and tattered on the edges. I looked up and high, high above, through the hole in the half-rotted roof, I could see a small tree growing from where its seed had planted itself in the mortar of the bricks some untold number of years ago.

But if I knew Josephine, those things would be seen to before too much longer. Dignitaries and nobles would be arriving on the heels of the refugees, and there was no time to waste transforming Skyhold from ruin to magnificence. It wasn’t just a practical matter of making the place a home – it was the political matter of renovating it into a headquarters. There would be new stained glass to order and install, all manner of impressive thrones to build, heavy drapes and embroidered banners to weave. And in addition to decorating the place, it would be a lot of jobs for the refugees, and they would likely be glad for it, especially since such work would allow them to stay at the relative safety of the castle.

After acquainting myself with the main hall, I began my expedition down the side corridors to see the other rooms and chambers of the castle. And it all just kept going and going, as if into eternity. Every time I rounded a corner, there was more to see. It was apparent that Skyhold was much, much larger here than it ever had been in the game, both outside _and_ inside, and every step down its musty halls cemented that fact. It was also made clear rather quickly that, in the real life version of this citadel, no space within the walls was wasted.

There were rooms _everywhere_ on the interior – everything from smaller closets and garderobes to larger meeting and assembly rooms, washrooms, and other useful chambers with purposes yet to be determined. There were storage rooms, cellars, and even a small barracks for the soldiers stationed in the castle. There was so much _more_ , and it was utterly fascinating. If it weren’t for the other curious people with the same idea as I had passing by me every once in a while, I would have felt like Lara Croft or Indiana Jones exploring some impossibly large and mysterious ruin all by myself.

Most interesting to me, though, was the fact that this unwasted space extended into the Inquisitor’s tower, too.

The tower itself was a long way up, just like I remembered. But there was nothing about the version from the game that suggested there were any rooms in it other than the Inquisitor’s quarters at the very top. Here, though, there were many, _many_ more rooms below that topmost suite, accessed by the same spiraling wooden staircase that ascended a narrow stone shaft. Every twenty feet or so was a level platform that allowed access to these rooms. According to a fresh notice tacked to the main hall door, though, all the chambers in the tower were inaccessible at the moment, the staircase and the rooms themselves requiring further inspection before usage. The engineers feared instability and rot in the wood that wasn’t immediately visible, and so the area was closed off to the general public for now.

However, the rooms above the garden, I learned later, were perfectly habitable, and there were many more lining the walk than there had been in the game. Ten doors (of varying conditions) led to small rooms perfect to be used as quarters for the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle, and Josephine wasted no time in assigning them to us while the tower was in the process of being inspected and renovated. She summoned us by messenger that afternoon and allotted the rooms to us in the following order from the battlements to the keep: Maxwell, me, herself, Leliana, Cassandra, Varric, Solas, Vivienne, Blackwall, and Dorian.

Cullen, according to the Ambassador, had opted to stay with his troops in the tower barracks until his future office tower could be properly restored, and Iron Bull insisted on staying in a tent with his Chargers in the courtyard for the time being. Sera hadn’t been available to give an opinion on the matter, and Cole, of course, needed no sleep or any special quarters.

And thus, our new sleeping arrangements were established before I had to brave the smithy again, thereby saving my sanity.

After supper, I was all too happy to go to my new room, even as poorly furnished as it was. I had already paid it a small visit after being assigned to it, and it had an old straw bed, a rotten chest, and an ancient dresser still intact in one corner. The beds had already been checked for pests and fungus, and they were, so I had been told, miraculously free of anything unsavory. I had my doubts, really, but by the time I was ready to go to bed, I found I didn’t actually care that much anymore.

To my great surprise, though, when I finally swung the door open that evening, I found Lea inside, busily polishing away at the dresser with a rag and a pot of oil or buffing wax of some sort. The old bed had been made with a deerskin covering as a barrier against the straw, a plain wool blanket overtop, and a half-stuffed pillow at the head. On top of that, it appeared as though the walls and the floor had been scoured clean of dust and moss since the last time I had seen them…

Lea nearly jumped out of her skin at hearing the creaking door hinges, her already large green eyes widening even larger – so much that their reflective nature became blindingly apparent in the candlelight. I met them questioningly as I closed the door behind me, plopping my bags on the stone floor.

“Oh! Tamsyn!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing a little as she put her hands behind her back. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here this early!”

I squinted at her, sparing a brief glance at the tiny, frosted glass cathedral window beside the door. “Early? It’s almost night, Lea.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Already?” she looked back at the dresser. “But I was just taking out the rotten pieces only…oh, dear.” She smiled weakly in her self-consciousness as she turned to me again. “Time flies, as people say.”

I looked around the room again and then cocked my head at her curiously. “Have you been working at this all day?” I began to wonder if her new job here at Skyhold was as a cleaning servant, and the thought left me ill at ease…

“Not all day, no!” Lea shook her head emphatically. “Lady Josephine only assigned me as your chamber and handmaid after the coronation earlier.” She waved the rag in her hand and grinned as she added, “The first order of business was to get this place some semblance of liveable.”

It was my turn to hang my mouth open. Chamber and handmaid? So Lea had been given the job of being my personal servant? Cleaning my rooms _and_ being my attendant? A series of indescribable emotions and half-formed thoughts raced through me at that moment, rendering me momentarily speechless. I didn’t need a servant, and I especially didn’t want one of my newest friends to be one for me. And I particularly detested the idea of Lea being given a stereotypical elven role…

I honestly didn’t know how to react to this news. I shut my mouth abruptly and glanced away, desperately searching for words. Surely Josephine hadn’t been so ridiculous and insensitive?

Lea must have sensed my unease, as she broke the heavy silence hesitantly. “Do you not want me to...” she began slowly, but then trailed off. Her tone was one of wariness and slight disappointment, and _that_ had me all the more troubled.

“No, no!” I said quickly as I shook my head, trying to somehow make amends. But then I realized how she might take _that_ particular response, too, and I added hastily, “I mean, that’s not to say I _want_ you to be my servant or anything, but if _you_ want the position…or, I mean…if, ah…”

I trailed off, too, panic seizing me. I was making a mess of this. How to tell her I didn’t want or need a maidservant and that I didn’t want her to be stuck in that situation, even if Josephine told her to be there, but without insulting Lea herself?

Then, quite abruptly, she cocked her head and looked at me, and her mouth formed into a silent _O_ as she seemed to realize something. “Oh…You’re worried I don’t want the position of being a serving woman, aren’t you?”

My cheeks were on fire now. I had no idea how to handle this. I silently nodded my response, unable to say anything else.

To my great surprise, she laughed aloud at that, the sound a sharp bark in the small chamber. “Oh, Tamsyn…I _asked_ for this position!”

My eyes widened, and I suddenly felt even more embarrassed that I hadn’t thought of that possibility myself before now. “You did?”

“Of course!” she admonished me, her expression almost one of utter bewilderment. “Right after the ceremony was out of the way, the Ambassador continued her assignment of domestic workers around the castle. It was a project she started yesterday. Lady Josephine called us together, and because there is so much to be done anyway, she wanted to know what sort of work we preferred to do before assigning tasks to people who didn’t know or care.”

She set her rag and pot of polish on the dresser and crossed her arms. “Before we got here, I was already doing much of the work of tending to yours and the Herald’s cabin while you were out and about in Haven, in between message runs around the village. After I thought about it, I realized I had my fill of courier work and decided I wanted to stay indoors as much as possible from now on. When she asked me for my preferences, I told her I wanted work in the keep, and she suggested this job as something that might be suitable. I liked the idea, so I took it.” She shrugged and then added, “And if you want to know, I specifically requested to be assigned to your quarters.”

I blinked. “Really?”

“Of course!” she replied with a nod. “I like to think we’ve become good friends in the time we’ve known each other…you seemed to think so, too, back in Haven.” She pulled her hands behind her back again. “I just hated the idea that our friendship might wane because of our duties keeping us from talking.”

She sighed, reaching out and picking at the rag on the dresser as she continued, not looking at me while she spoke. “You’re the first human who’s treated me as an equal. Besides Lady Josephine, of course. You were the one who finally broke me out of my ‘mistress’ and ‘master’ habit…the one that was hammered into me ever since childhood.” She returned her gaze to me. “Despite our titles and our various jobs, we’re all part of the Inquisition now, and each of us just as important as the rest. Even when Lady Josephine says as much to us all the time, it was still a hard thing to become accustomed to at first…but now I am. I’m not unhappy with this work.”

I lifted a brow. “And you’re sure she’s paying you well for it?”

“Oh, Maker, yes! More than I could have ever dreamed!” she exclaimed. Shaking her head, she continued with a broad smile, “Don’t worry, my friend. It’s fine. More than fine. We have a limited staff right now, someone has to do it, and better it be someone who doesn’t _mind_ doing it, right? Besides,” she waved a hand at the room, “you’re not that messy, comparatively. Once we get this place all cleaned up and organized, there practically won’t be any work for me to do at all.”

She paused, and then stepped a little closer, worry furrowing her brow as she added in a lowered voice. “There’s also the matter of safety to consider, Tamsyn. Butler is still held prisoner, and his ideas haven’t died with his jailing. There’s more than one person who’s had bad thoughts about what you are and what everyone claims you can do…what you profess you can do.”

She glanced over my shoulder at the door and then back at me. “I don’t know how much experience you’ve had with these sorts of things, but you should know that your chambermaid and your handmaid – or both, as I happen to be – are the people who are closest to you, because they know your habits and where you are at any given time. I don’t trust anyone else but myself to be this close to you. I’m not sure anyone would try anything with other members of the Inner Circle present. But here? Alone?” She shook her head once more, letting me fill in the blanks.

 _That_ was something I definitely hadn’t considered.

“But,” she turned back to the dresser, straightening it and retrieving her cleaning tools. “That’s enough of that. I’m sure you’re ready for rest now. I’ll leave you to it, then, and come check up on you in the morning. If that’s all right?”

I nodded, “That’s all right. Thank you, Lea. I appreciate it.”

She beamed. “Of course. A good night to you, Lady Tamsyn.”

“Good night.”

And she was gone, closing the door quietly behind her.

For a few minutes after she left, I simply stood there, thinking on what she told me. I couldn’t help but be a slight bit worried. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to have the ever-observant Lea as my handmaid, after all.

\------------------------------------------------------

Morning arrived much too soon.

I slept so much better than I had the night before, even on the old bed, but it didn’t last nearly long enough to suit me. Dawn’s light had barely peeked through the small window when I heard the not-so-distant noises of construction – hammers, saws, picks, and the intermittent grunts of workers as they set about restoring the castle’s keep. Unable to sleep through that no matter how exhausted I was, I changed from my nightgown to my Fereldan dress again, completed my morning routine, left a note for Lea in case I didn’t see her, and departed for the main hall.

Already, scaffolding was being built to reach the highest areas of the walls. Workers passed tools to each other in buckets attached to ropes, and several people were dragging palettes of sand bags into the keep. I cringed and moved to the middle of the hall, staying well away from the edges to avoid anything that might be accidentally dropped or randomly fall on my head…

“Fresh shipment of apples this morn, milady,” I heard a voice say at my elbow. I turned to see a middle-aged woman holding a large basket in her arms, which was filled to the brim with small, bright red apples. “Would you like one?” she asked, extending the basket towards me as much as she could for the weight.

“Oh, thank you!” I said, taking one in hand and nodding graciously in thanks to her.

Continuing on, I saw Dorian leaning against the wall next to what would become Varric’s regular haunt, the hearth beside him crackling merrily and lending the unfurnished hall a much warmer atmosphere.

“Ah! Look who it is!” he said, smiling warmly as I approached the Altus. “And how are you this fine morning, Tamsyn?”

“Still exhausted, but well,” I said, turning the apple over in my hand. “And you, Ser Dorian?”

“Eager to see where this takes us,” he replied, uncrossing his arms and gesturing at the hall. “Your Herald…or should I say, your _Inquisitor_ …fully accepted me into the fold yesterday. Now I suppose I can officially say I’m ‘one of you’.”

I grinned, “Congratulations, then, and welcome to the Inquisition.”

“Thank you,” he answered with a nod. “I must say, aside from all the sneers and glances and curled lips, the south has been more welcoming than I expected. It’s a rather pleasant surprise.”

I laughed a little. “It was for me, too.”

His smile turned wry, one side of his mustache curling upwards with the movement. “I actually wanted to talk with you about that, if you’re willing. The Elder One’s attack rather rudely delayed the opportunity to do so until now. I’d like to have at least _one_ small discussion on the matter before another disaster prevents me from doing so.”

I indicated to the door with my apple hand. “Walk the battlements, then?”

“As good a place as any, I suppose,” he agreed, inclining his head politely before we both wandered out of the main hall and into the courtyard.

We walked in silence, me eating the apple all the while, until we reached the gatehouse walls, where we could watch the soldiers and workers coming and going across the bridge. There were more caravans visible in the distance, wagons laden with construction supplies and other goods.

At last, Dorian halted and began, “Well, now that we have less of a chance of being overheard, I’d like to ask just how it was that you came to be here, if you’re willing to share the tale. The Herald was a bit vague when he told me about it, although I think he did that more out of respect for your privacy than a lack of understanding on the issue.” He leaned against a merlon. “Still, I would like to know, if for no other reason than to get a handle on just what kind of magic was involved that brought you here.”

There were a few moments of silence as I chewed a last bite of apple before finally answering him. “My world was destroyed, Dorian. As much as I’m aware, there’s nothing left of it. What I saw,” I shook my head slowly. “The ground under my feet erupted. Everything was going _up_.” I gesticulated with both hands for emphasis, still holding the core of the apple. “Even if, somehow, there was something left, the debris cloud alone from something like that would have plunged the whole planet into an ice age. Blanketed the sky with dust so no sunlight could come through. No crops, people being unable to breathe…” I shook my head again, faster this time. “It was green. That’s all I remember. The ground opened up green under me. And then I blacked out. And when I woke up, I was in the Fade.”

“And then you managed to find your way out through a rift, correct?”

I nodded.

“Remarkable,” he breathed in awe. Glancing at me, he added seriously, “A terrible tragedy, of course, and you have my sympathies for your loss. I cannot imagine how that must feel. But it is also remarkable. Simply because it has never been done before. At least, not to anyone’s knowledge in centuries’ worth of arcane scholarship.”

He paused, and then continued, “And what really gets me about it is that this world is supposed to be part of a work of fiction for you. And yet, it has now been made your reality.” He cocked his head at me. “ _That_ , I think, beats experiments with time traveling ten times over.” He chuckled a bit, and then his thoughtful gaze swept over the mountains. “I wonder what Alexius would make of it, if he knew about it all.”

I sighed. “I’m still not sure I understand it, myself. Solas tried to explain his own theory, and it makes sense…” I looked down at the apple core in my hands. “But, at the same time, it seems like such a stretch.”

Dorian looked back to me and smirked. “Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn’t. One never knows for sure with these things. Especially with the Fade involved.”

“Solas seemed to think it was my imagination that saved my life,” I said. “That it pulled me here.”

“Imagination does play a large part in the Fade, and with magic in general,” he nodded. Then, smiling more widely, he joked, “Maybe you willed us all into existence. Maybe _you’re_ the Maker after all.”

I snorted. “There’s a thought.”

He was still grinning as he returned his attention to the mountains. “Funny, isn’t it? Here we are, both of us knowing what the future could hold if things pan out a certain way. I’m trying to ensure that what I saw _doesn’t_ come to pass. You are doing the exact opposite. And yet we both want the same thing. The only question remaining is how many tripwires get thrown in our path along the way.”

I chuckled, leaning against a merlon as I watched the passersby on the bridge below us.

“Knowing my luck? A lot.”

\------------------------------------------------------

After my little talk with Dorian, I spent most of the morning continuing to wander around Skyhold, watching everything slowly but surely falling into place. Josephine was still flitting around the fortress like a tireless hummingbird, flashes of her gold satin blouse visible every once in a while in the crowd of workers and refugees. Occasionally, I spotted Cullen in much the same manner, but Leliana had disappeared entirely, as had Maxwell. Part of me wanted to seek them out and talk to them, but another part of me wanted to leave them be and let the sting of Haven ease up a bit more. This transition period would be relatively short, and I would be back in on war meetings soon enough.

It wasn’t long before the smell of a ram cooking on a spit in the courtyard summoned me back outside. Flissa was working miracles again, it seemed, serving up portions of the meat alongside roasted potatoes, and I managed to grab a bite early on, before the soldiers and scouts began to crowd the poor cook and smother her. As I quickly finished eating and glanced around, though, I saw Rylen standing off to himself, immersed in his own plateful of food. Seeing as I hadn’t had the opportunity to actually talk to the Knight-Captain in a while, I decided to try and remedy that.

“Hello there, Knight-Captain,” I greeted him as I neared.

He glanced up. “Oh, Tamsyn. Something you needed?”

“Oh, no!” I said. “I just wondered if we could talk for a moment. If you have the time, of course.”

“Sure thing, lass,” he replied, lowering his plate. “What about?”

I sighed. “Well…I just wanted to thank you.”

His brow rose. “Oh? And what for?”

I tossed my hands upwards in a shrug. “Just…the times you’ve helped me. First, you saved my life from Butler, and I have yet to properly thank you for that,” I said. “And then you hauled me out of the snow to make sure I didn’t fall behind, back when we were fleeing Haven.” I grinned. “You seem to have made something of a habit of swooping in to rescue me. I figured I owed you at least a formal acknowledgment and appreciation of your help.”

At that, the Knight-Captain chuckled. “No need to thank me, there, Tamsyn. I did what anyone _should_ do in those circumstances.”

He paused, finishing off his food, and then added, “You know, this may just be my Templar training talking, but for the longest time, you’ve reminded me of a Circle apprentice.”

I looked at him incredulously. “What?”

“Not because you have magic, of course,” he elaborated hastily. “I know you don’t. But just the way you’ve interacted with others ever since you dropped out of Maker-knows-where.” He glanced off, pausing before he continued. “Most Circle mages, when they first arrive at their towers, have trouble finding out where they belong in this new world of theirs. They’re shy, unsociable, practically frightened of their own shadows. But after a time, once they have a chance to adjust, most of them learn to live – and even thrive – in that world. Slowly growing in strength and confidence, making new friends, building their own small families, so to speak, even if they aren’t blood kin. And just from what I’ve observed of you, you’ve been much the same.” He grinned mischievously. “You seem much more comfortable now than you did when you first ran into me outside of Haven’s privy…”

“Damnit, Rylen, give it up already!” I hissed, punching him in the arm. But not too hard.

“Ha! See what I mean?” he replied with a barking laugh.

And I did. Communicating with everyone, including Rylen, had become so much easier. In the grand scheme of things, I had barely spent any time in Thedas at all – barely two months. And yet I was already interacting with a good number of the Inquisition as if we were good friends. And a rather large part of me sincerely hoped that we were.

As I thought, my eyes wandered over to Cullen’s table, where the Commander himself sat, leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out before him as he held a quill in one hand and parchment in the other. Rylen followed my gaze and gestured in Cullen’s direction with his fork. “Commander’s busied himself with writing letters to the families of the fallen.” He nudged me in the arm with his elbow. “Might be a good time for you to go and talk to him. I think it would do you both some good.”

He then smiled wickedly as he looked down at me out of the corner of his storm-blue eye and winked.

My cheeks went blazing hot. “ _Rylen_ …”

“Go on,” he shooed me with his empty plate. “Go and have a nice chat with him while you’ve got the chance. In the meantime,” he huffed, “I’ve work to do…soldiers to supervise and training schedules to review.”

He then began to turn away, and I took a half-step after him, my boot splashing loudly in a shallow puddle. “But-”

“Don’t ‘but’ me, lass,” he replied with a chuckle, not bothering to look back. “I’ll see you later.”

I could only gape after him as the Knight-Captain strode off, leaving me standing there more than slightly bewildered and wondering whether I should follow his advice or just ignore it.

I glanced back to where Cullen was immersed in his work, seemingly oblivious to me looking across the courtyard at him. I wondered what Maxwell had told Leliana regarding the soldiers lost at Haven if Cullen already had the scroll with the names of the fallen. Knowing the Inquisitor, I was certain he had said the right thing. But I made a mental note to visit the Nightingale sometime later, just to make sure.

The Commander had finally shed the extra armor pieces that he had worn since the battle of Haven, now wearing only his repaired breastplate and cuirass, spaulders, and vambraces once more. He seemed much more relaxed this way, though the deep furrow in his brow told a different story. His hair, having been days untreated with whatever he used to keep it combed straight back from his face, was now curling around his forehead in golden locks. It was then I realized I was one of the only ones to have preserved my personal belongings – everything else had been lost, including the Commander’s pomade or hair gel or crème or whatever. I briefly wondered where his lyrium kit was being kept, because surely it was too large to carry around in his pocket…

Shaking my head, I closed my eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. I really didn’t need to bother him. I really didn’t. I’d actually been halfway avoiding him ever since the attack, as much as the situation would allow. He didn’t seem to be that angry with me anymore, but the level of friendliness we had before had yet to come back…and, honestly, I wasn’t sure it ever would.

But if Rylen was encouraging me to talk to Cullen, then maybe he knew something? If there was anyone besides Cassandra who could properly gauge the Commander’s mood, it was most certainly his second.

Huffing out an exasperated sigh, I strode forward towards his table. He looked up when he heard me walking through the sparse grass, and he set down his paper, leaning forward expectantly as I approached.

“Tamsyn,” he greeted me with a slight nod. “Is there something you require?”

I hesitated. _I should just leave him be._

“Just a moment to talk, if that’s all right,” I finally replied, against my better judgment.

“It is,” he answered, to my great surprise, gesturing to a nearby stool. “I could use something of a distraction right about now.”

I slowly approached and perched on the stool, the scarlet surcoat pooling above my ankles. “How are you doing?” I asked cautiously.

He sighed heavily, propping one elbow atop the table and leaning his head into his hand. “When I signed on for this position, I never imagined I would have to lead an actual army against a darkspawn magister, of all things. Developing squadrons to handle rogue mages and Templars and bandits…I was prepared to handle all of that. But this?” He shook his head and fell silent. Then, he added in a slightly quieter voice, “Those corrupted Templars at Haven. I thought I’d seen all that red lyrium could do when Meredith went mad in Kirkwall. Now, it seems that was only the beginning…”

Cullen trailed off, wincing as he rubbed his temples with two gloved fingers. Withdrawal symptoms? I was surprised he hadn’t experienced them visibly again until now. I was certain he would have had them during our flight from Haven, or suffered a nightmare when we had slept in the same tent, but he had done neither. Maybe the adrenaline had prevented the withdrawals somehow, and perhaps sleeping in the company of others had actually kept his nightmares from haunting him.

In any case, it was evident that all of it was coming back now that we were settled in at Skyhold.

“Rylen told me you were busy with some letters to the families of the fallen,” I said tentatively. “Why don’t you let me take some of them off your hands?” I suggested, cocking my head at him.

He paused his rubbing and quirked a brow upwards at me. “You want to?”

I hesitated, glancing away as I thought for a moment. “I…yeah, actually, I do.” It seemed only right, after all. I had tried to help save everyone, but I had failed. I needed to do something to help make up for it.

His eyes held mine for a brief second, making me hold my breath in anticipation, before they dropped to the silver scroll casing on the table beside his inkwell. “I haven’t written the Corporal’s family, yet. If I remember right, she has a brother still alive in Denerim.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was talking about Delia. I nodded. “All right. Why don’t you just sit and relax for a minute and I’ll write it for you.”

He pushed the quill, inkwell, and blank parchment towards me with one hand and I immediately took up the pen, biting my lower lip as I thought of how to compose an appropriate condolences letter. I’d never written anything remotely like it before, but I knew right away it needed to sound both professional and personal, somehow. If it sounded too distant and impersonal, then people would view the Inquisition just like every other massive organization in Thedas – too far removed from the common folk to actually care about them.

Then, a sudden inspiration rushing through me, I dipped the quill into the ink and began to write.

_To the Rothe family:_

_It is with a heavy heart and deepest regret that I must inform you of the passing of your kinswoman, Delia Rothe. A valiant warrior and Corporal for the Inquisition, Delia gave her life defending the innocent people of Haven from the forces of the darkspawn magister, Corypheus. Words cannot express how much her death has grieved us all, and together we mourn the loss of a good woman and a dear friend._

_I realize that nothing I say could possibly help ease the sting of this terrible news, but know that she and the Rothe family will be in our thoughts and prayers, and her sacrifice will never be forgotten._

_May she walk forever at the Maker’s side,_

_Tamsyn Ashworth – Advisor to the Inquisition_

I didn’t realize I was actually holding my breath until I finished the last sharp, runic letter. And I had no idea I was crying until a tear dripped from my cheek and hit the parchment. Shocked, I dabbed at it quickly with my thumb before the moisture could settle into the paper, blinking as my vision blurred a bit, and I felt myself redden as I glanced up at Cullen. He was looking at me with such a gentle expression, his brow knitted ever so slightly in concern, and I wanted nothing more in that moment than to throw my arms around his neck and bury my head into the thick fur of his mantle, to hide my face from the world…

_Stop it!_

Instead, I cleared my throat to banish those thoughts and passed the parchment to him with an awkward smile. “How’s this?”

He took the paper from my hands almost gingerly, and I watched as his golden eyes flicked from word to word while he read. When he finally reached the end of the letter, the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, but I was unsure of its meaning; so many of his expressions were difficult to interpret, something I had learned over the course of the many conversations and meetings we had together since I arrived. He remained silent for a moment after, but at last, he set the letter down on the table in front of him and nodded slowly as his gaze returned to my anxious one.

“That will do, Tamsyn. Thank you.”


	28. Chapter 28

I wiped my silent tears away, and, for at least an hour or two afterwards, I assisted Cullen in penning similar letters of condolences to more families of the Inquisition’s deceased, though none of them had quite the same personal note as the one for the Rothes, simply because I hadn’t known the fallen as closely…or at all. Still, I tried my best to make them as heartfelt as I could; it was cathartic, in a way, and it gave me my own small bit of closure. It was as if my own personal apologies were enclosed in the letters I wrote, my grief and regret regarding the imperfect outcome of the attack flowing out with the ink and setting there as it dried.

The Commander was quiet after that, and so was I, somehow not needing to say anything more to complete the task before us. We worked in an alternating fashion as we completed letters for each family name that was listed on the scroll Leliana had given him, allowing us both to take a mental and physical break between each one. Despite having to share writing materials, though, time passed rather quickly, the bright sun steadily continuing in its arc over our heads. Before long, all of the letters were finally done and ready to send out via the Nightingale’s ravens or her surefooted couriers, and as I returned the Commander’s pen to his inkwell and gave the last letter a final look over, I felt certain that, had I not done what I did at Haven, there would have been many, many more than there were…

When we finished up, sound rushed back into my ears with near deafening force, and I was once again aware of the roar of constant activity in the courtyard that I had somehow managed to block out as I worked so intently. It came as almost a relief, in a way; it seemed I hadn’t lost the ability to summon concentration in crowded areas, at least when it came to writing. Maybe that was something of a good sign.

With all of the correspondence sealed and stacked in hand, Cullen pushed back his chair in the grass and slowly stood with a groan, wincing as he stretched. For some reason, I averted my eyes from his languid, almost cat-like movements as if I was witnessing something private, and I fought to keep from blushing. Even half-garbed in armor, he moved with marvelous fluidity, and that made it all the more entrancing to watch. But then, glancing to where I still sat, he re-caught my attention with my name, leaning forward onto the table.

“Tamsyn, when you asked me why I saved you back at Haven, I distinctly remember you answered the question for me,” he began quietly, his voice almost a whisper. His amber eyes latched to mine, rendering me unable to look away from him as he continued. “You told me I must have done it because I save people.” The corner of his mouth curled upwards, seemingly in amusement. “That may be so. But I would like to pose something to you, in return.” His brow furrowed, then, as he turned serious, and his eyes briefly narrowed at me as he added. “Ask yourself why you truly thought I shouldn’t have.”

In the utter silence that followed, I watched, wide-eyed, as he straightened, casually resting his unoccupied hand on the pommel of his sword. “I don’t expect you to share the answer you find, when you do,” he said. “It’s…merely something I want you to contemplate, sometime.” And at that, he simply nodded his polite farewell, turned, and began walking towards the keep.

I stared after him for several moments, unsure of how to take that suggestion. I couldn’t believe he had given our argument so much consideration, given how busy he had been in the past few days, and I felt my stomach churn a little as I already began considering his words. But then, sighing heavily as if to release an invisible weight from my chest, I stood abruptly and shook my head.

Later. I’d think about it later.

Smoothing my skirt, I looked around. Skyhold was like a kicked anthill, and it was difficult to find anyone in all that chaos. But suddenly, I caught sight of Maxwell walking atop the battlements and was about to try and catch up to him when I heard someone call out to me.

“Lady Tamsyn!”

I turned towards the voice, brow furrowed. There, heading towards me from the keep stairs, was Strider, and I felt my eyes widen in surprise. In the flurry of activity since the attack on Haven and the discovery of Skyhold, I hadn’t had the chance to speak with him.

“Strider!” I waved back, giving him a broad smile of greeting. Noting that he wore his full gear, including a full-to-bursting pack atop his back, curiosity spurred me to ask, “What’s going on?”

He closed the distance between us, drawing up beside me as he glanced around at the busy courtyard. “I’m glad I found you,” he said, smiling back. “I don’t have a whole lot of time to chat, but I thought I should let you know that the Nightingale has reassigned me. For the foreseeable future, I won’t be stationed at Skyhold.”

My brows rose, and my mouth dropped open. “What?”

He nodded, pressing his lips together. “It’s not much of a surprise, honestly. She wants more agents in the field now that we have an official base that’s far more defensible than Haven ever was. There’s less of a need for trainers and extra hands for security and more of a need for eyes and ears _out there_.” He gestured generically to the mountains with a gloved hand. “We’ve got to get an idea of where this Elder One ran off to, and with how many numbers still at his disposal, and that means more people spread out through Ferelden and the Empire.”

I nodded slowly in understanding, but feeling a little sick. Strider was far more vulnerable out there. There was no telling what kind of enemies he would face. Venatori, Red Templars, demons…

“Suffice it to say,” Strider continued, “I can’t be your trainer, anymore. But considering how well you performed during the defense of the village, I can’t say you really need that much at this point.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. “Practice, yes. But you’ve got a handle on most of the concepts already.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “If you still think you need it, though, I’m sure the Nightingale could arrange something.”

“It’s not going to be the same,” I said, not relishing the idea of having to get used to someone new training me. I had greatly appreciated Strider’s patience…and even his smart mouth, on occasion.

“Of course not,” Strider replied with a snort. “No one trains like I do. But sometimes, different is better.”

After the moment of silence that followed, I sighed again, glancing away briefly to swallow down my emotion. “All right, then. I guess it’s goodbye?”

“I suppose so, Lady Tamsyn. It’s been an honor to be your teacher.”

Despite my valiant attempt at maintaining control, I nearly burst out crying then and there. He must have seen the emotion welling in my eyes, because he suddenly reached forward and pulled me into a tight embrace, the smell of leather and dried elfroot tickling my nose. “Don’t worry. We might end up seeing each other again before this is through. And if we do, I’m sure we’ll have many a good story to share.”

I chuckled, squeezing him back with all my strength. “I’m sure we will, Strider.”

At last, he let me go, straightening his back and giving me a last friendly grin. “Until then, though…Maker guide you, Lady Tamsyn.” He pressed his fist to his chest in a salute, which I answered with a slight bow.

“And you, my friend.”

And with that, Strider finally departed Skyhold, his namesake long strides carrying him through the castle gates, past an incoming wagon of supplies, and onto the bridge that spanned the plunging ravine below. Pushing past workers and jogging up to the wall stairs, I picked up my skirts and climbed them two at a time to stand on the battlements, watching him leave. It seemed such a lonely journey for him to take. There he was, going out into the snowy wilderness by himself, and though I knew he was a competent Scout, and he was likely headed straight for an Inquisition camp somewhere, I couldn’t help but fear for his life.

The sharp wind whipping my skirts and hair all the while, I watched until Strider was but a speck disappearing on the winding trail in the distance, past where the encampment for the Inquisition soldiers would be established once the castle could no longer support the growing troop numbers. Then, when I could no longer see a trace of him, I slowly turned away with a somewhat heavier heart.

“Tamsyn!”

Yet another call of my name broke me out of my thoughts. Turning back towards the walkway to my right, from which the sound of my name had echoed, I squinted, holding my hand up to shield my face from the blinding sun. Maxwell was coming my way, and with him was Varric…

And Garrett Hawke. Mage Garrett Hawke, judging from the staff on his back.

As the Champion sauntered along the battlements towards me, between Maxwell and Varric, I realized I was looking at Bioware’s default male Hawke to a _T_ : black hair and beard, brown eyes, scarlet blood smear across his nose. He had a wiry build and was taller than Maxwell by a few inches, and that was saying something, because the Herald was already tall, at least to my short-ish self.

It seemed like almost everyone in the Inquisition was taller than me, except some of the elven women and the dwarves…

Smiling as he approached, Maxwell greeted me rather cheerfully. “It’s good I could catch you before you disappeared in the crowd again. There’s a friend of Varric’s you should meet. Even though you probably already know about him…this is Serah Hawke,” he said, gesturing to the Champion. “Hawke? This is Lady Tamsyn. She is one of my advisors.”

“Ah, yes,” Garrett dipped his head respectfully, extending his hand for me to shake. “Varric’s told me a bit about you. You’re the Inquisition’s very own Prophet, aren’t you?” he asked.

I took his hand, and he shook it with a rather firm grip as I replied, “Well, I’m not sure I’d go _that_ far with it…” I trailed as I glanced at Varric, who gave me a smug smile in response. “But yes, that’s me.”

“Wonderful!” he grinned broadly, relinquishing his grip. Then, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, he asked eagerly, “Tell me, then…what’s for supper?”

“It…doesn’t quite work like that, Chuckles,” Varric remarked flatly.

A purple Hawke, then. This was going to be rich.

I bit back a snort and crossed my arms. “Well, I’m sorry to say that if it’s the same as it was last night and the night before…it’s roasted ram. And potatoes. More potatoes than ram. Or maybe just potatoes if our hunters aren’t lucky.”

At that, Hawke looked more than a bit let down, and Maxwell chuckled as he shook his head. “Our Ambassador is working very hard to change that rather limited menu as soon as possible. I think more for her own sanity than anything else, at this point. As stoic as she attempts to be about it, I don’t imagine aristocratic Antivan palates are at all compatible with the Fereldan hunter’s fare we’ve been forced to eat in recent days.” He sighed. “The last I heard on the matter, she’s having trouble convincing food caravans to make the journey here.”

“I can see why,” Varric observed, jerking a thumb at the ice-coated peaks behind us. “No one wants to risk a cart full of the scantest fall harvest in years taking a tumble down one of _these_ mountains.”

“Or becoming food for red lions and bears,” I added. Then, scrunching my brow together, I clarified, “The people or the vegetables,” to which Maxwell answered with an amused yet understanding nod.

Hawke barked out a laugh. “Ha! Imagine a wagon getting so close to the castle they can see it and then losing their load down one of those ravines. You’d be hunting for the cabbages for weeks,” he jested, sparing a glance over the walls at the valley below. “Although, with all the snow about, they should be saved from rot…”

“The Frostbacks have no shortage of snow, it seems,” Maxwell agreed. “And as beautiful as it is, it makes me long for warmer climes.”

“You ought to feel right at home, though, Chuckles,” Varric remarked as he elbowed Hawke.

At that, the Champion looked down at the toes of his armored boots and answered quietly, “I’m not sure I know what that is anymore.”

Uncomfortable silence fell around us, then, punctuated only by the occasional caw of Leliana’s ravens. Varric seemed to immediately regret his words, but when he opened his mouth to say something, nothing came out. I swallowed, glancing away and unsure of what to say or do myself at that point. Then, finally, Maxwell gathered the nerve to break the awkward pall.

“Well, I shouldn’t dawdle. There are many things I must attend to, and I should go take this information of yours to my war council,” he said, pointedly glancing to me before inclining his head to Hawke. “I must say, it was a pleasure to finally meet you, Champion.”

“Likewise, Inquisitor,” Hawke replied with a mirrored gesture.

“Right, let’s let the Herald do his thing, Chuckles,” Varric said. “You mentioned you’re not leaving for Crestwood until morning, so how about a game of Wicked Grace later tonight? It’ll be just like old times.”

“Of course, Varric, how could I not?” Hawke replied, grin flashing under his beard once more, the shadow that had draped itself around his shoulders almost miraculously vanishing.

“Great!” said Varric, “I’ll make arrangements. You and Fortune Teller here are invited, by the way,” he added to Maxwell.

The Inquisitor and I both smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Until then, Varric.”

“See you, Inquisitor, Tamsyn.”

And with that, we separated, with me occasionally glancing over my shoulder to see Hawke and Varric walking off across the battlements together. I silently followed Maxwell down the wall stairs and towards the keep for the first official war meeting since we had arrived at Skyhold, all the while wondering just how long it would take for Cassandra to throttle Varric after catching word about the Champion’s arrival.

\------------------------------------------------------

The War Room was now easily my favorite spot in Skyhold.

It seemed it was one of the first places to get extensive treatment from the workers and servants, the dust and dirt scrubbed from the high windows and walls, and the war table polished to a high shine. Like everything else about the castle, it was much bigger than it seemed to be in the game, utterly convincing me that the tree from which it had been cut so many centuries ago must have been something akin to a giant redwood. It was also currently the only piece of furniture in the room besides the matching root chandelier that hovered overhead. The old wax candles molded to the wood remained unlit, as bright sunlight streamed through the thick glass panes, sufficient to illuminate the chamber from wall to wall. No rugs, tapestries, or banners, and so the room was rather bare and somewhat cold. Still, it brought a smile to my face to see it in person. I could foresee much time spent here in the future, poring over reports…

Once the maps were unrolled and all the pieces and markers were in place atop them, I stepped back and let Maxwell fill in the other advisors on what Hawke had told him about his Warden contact in Crestwood; it had quickly become the natural way for me to participate in these meetings, remaining silent until someone asked me something specifically or looked at me expectantly. Or I heard something that needed instant clarification.

In the interim, I watched their reactions to the Inquisitor’s words. Leliana in particular was quite intent on what the Inquisitor had to say, her straightened posture and lifted brows betraying her interest as she listened to Maxwell speak. Cullen’s expression was, as expected, unreadable, although the initial mention of Hawke’s name elicited a raised brow and a slight glance in Josephine’s direction. Returning my attention to the Inquisitor, I realized this was the first time we were holding a meeting without Cassandra present, and I wondered if the Seeker had managed to get her hands on the dwarf yet…

“The Champion suggested I go meet his contact in Crestwood as soon as possible,” Maxwell concluded at last. “He seems certain that he can provide some answers for the Inquisition regarding the disappearance of the Wardens and their possible connection to Corypheus.”

“Although I am pleased that the Champion has come forward with this information, Lady Cassandra is _not_ going to be happy with Master Tethras,” Josephine observed, taking notes after the Inquisitor finished. Her lips were pressed together while she wrote, her black-feathered quill bobbing rhythmically.

“She’ll likely murder him if she can get her hands on him,” Leliana replied, shaking her head as she turned her attention to the papers in her hands.

Cullen sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other with a slight jingle of chains. “I must say, I am rather surprised that Hawke showed up here at all. But…then again,” he paused, seemingly thinking for a moment before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps I’m not…”

Leliana shuffled through some of her paperwork. “In any case, we also have a few reports of rifts appearing in Crestwood, and my scouts say there is an undead problem manifesting there, which is threatening the safety of the village. They may be connected. That is another good reason to pay a visit, and soon.”

“Agreed.” Maxwell nodded his understanding. “We’ll make preparations for our departure on the morrow and then leave the following morning.”

“Understood, Inquisitor,” Cullen answered.

“While we are here, we should also discuss the situation with the Empress,” Josephine advised, peering around Cullen at Leliana.

“Yes,” the Nightingale agreed, meeting the Ambassador’s look with a small nod. Turning her attention to Maxwell, she added, “It turns out that our messengers to the Empress are being intercepted, and we have not been able to determine who is doing it. Someone is determined to prevent communication from the Inquisition from reaching her, and thus far, they are succeeding at every turn.”

“Which means we need to enact another plan, and quickly,” said Cullen, one hand flexing on the pommel of his sword.

“I think I have just the thing,” Josephine replied as she flipped to a specific page on her tablet. “The Empress is holding a ball at the end of the year. It will be a grand masquerade, arranged for the purpose of conducting peace talks with her cousin, Grand Duke Gaspard. It has been arranged by his sister, Grand Duchess Florianne, and it will be hosted at the Winter Palace, in Halamshiral. If the announcements are any indication,” her eyes quickly swept over one such pamphlet, and her brows rose, “it will be a marvelous affair indeed. Everyone who is anyone in the Empire will be in attendance.”

“What better time and place for an assassin to strike than in the midst of such a crowd?” Cullen observed.

“And what better way to make a statement than to do it in front of her entire court?” Leliana added.

“If we want to prevent that from happening,” Josephine continued, “then I am afraid we will have to make an appearance there as well.  Our presence alone could be a deterrent, but it may also present an opportunity to catch whoever is working with Corypheus to eliminate the Empress.”

“I see,” Maxwell replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “How long do we have?” He asked at length.

“Well, let us see,” Josephine flipped to another page. “It is the twenty seventh of Harvestmere, yes? And the ball is to be held…” she flipped back to the announcement, “the thirtieth of Haring.”

“To see in a new year of peace, perhaps?” Cullen suggested. “It sounds like something she would attempt to accomplish on such a date.”

“Or so the Empress hopes,” Leliana replied with a nod of affirmation. “I am not certain that Gaspard will agree to such a truce, however. Especially now we have word that another faction is attempting to gain influence over the situation.”

“So we have two months, or thereabouts,” Maxwell said, his hand moving to the back of his neck as he fixed his eyes on the war table.

“Yes,” the Nightingale confirmed. “And in that time, we must somehow secure an invitation to the ball.”

“As well as have something appropriate made for our attendance,” Josephine added.

“And have a plan to protect the Empress while we’re there,” Cullen concluded.

They all looked at me, then, obviously waiting for some sort of advice.

“You’re on the right track,” I said simply. “As for your invitation, you’ll want to go through Gaspard.” When Leliana and Josephine both opened their mouths as if to protest, I added hastily, “I know, I know. It’ll look like the Inquisition’s choosing sides in the civil war. But trust me, Gaspard is your only bet of getting in. Sure, he’ll want to use his connection to the Inquisition as leverage in the peace talks, but he won’t be able to actually go very far with it unless the Inquisitor lets him.” I glanced at Maxwell, who nodded in understanding. “You just need him to get past the front door.”

“If you say so,” Josephine said at last, letting out a hissing breath through her nose as she shook her head and took notes. “I will send correspondence to him as soon as time will allow.” Pausing, she added, “Speaking of which, Commander, we just received word from the Marquis DuRellion.”

“Oh?” Cullen asked, though his tone was one of trepidation, not curiosity.

She nodded. “He wishes to construct a memorial at Haven to honor our fallen. He will need assistance with obtaining workers for the project, however. I can easily raise the coin to have them hired on contract for the Inquisition, or we could use volunteers from our own ranks.”

“I’m sure we could find soldiers willing and eager to participate in such an endeavor,” Cullen answered musingly, glancing to Maxwell for confirmation. “On your order, we will take whichever action you prefer, Inquisitor.”

Maxwell inclined his head to the Commander. “If you can spare the men, I think it would be most appropriate to have our own there involved in the construction.”

“Agreed,” Cullen replied. “I will pass word along, Josephine, and you will soon have your men to send to the Marquis.”

“Excellent,” she said, scribbling away once more.

“One more thing,” Cullen continued, speaking to Maxwell again. “Varric recently brought up his growing concern regarding the red lyrium deposits at the temple and Corypheus’s connection to it, and he has mentioned seeing other deposits elsewhere around Ferelden during your travels. I agree that this is an alarming issue that merits a deeper investigation, not only because of its corruptive nature, but also because it is obviously being actively weaponized by one of Corypheus’s generals.”

“Samson,” Maxwell said with a nod. “You told me of him.”

“Yes,” Cullen’s voice was almost a hiss of disgust. “It would behoove us to find out how he is using this weapon to create his army, and how we can cut off his supply to keep him from rebuilding his ranks. Unless…” he trailed as his amber gaze drifted to mine questioningly, and the way he looked at me out of the corner of his eye, brow lifted, somehow dismantled almost every bit of composure I possessed in one fell swoop.

And we all know that swooping is bad.

“Oh… _ahem_ ,” I coughed, feeling rather hot and stifled in that moment. “Yes, that…that would be a wise course of action.” I swallowed hard, desperately trying to recover as I clenched my hands behind my back. “You are correct. The only way to cripple the Red Templars is to cut off their lyrium supply, but that means you need to both find a way to keep it out of their hands indefinitely and then safely dispose of it.”

“Meaning we need to first locate the handlers and suppliers, and then destroy as much as possible,” Maxwell said, his eyes wandering as he thought. “I’m certain we can find a way to accomplish that, but I’m thinking we will need more leads than just the pockets of red lyrium we’ve found poking out of the ground.”

“We have already dispatched scouts to assist with that,” Leliana elaborated. “So far, it appears as though our intelligence is pointing towards Orlais, but we will need more information before we can proceed in earnest.”

“All right,” Maxwell said, rubbing the back of his neck again with a heavy sigh as he let his gaze drop to the maps before him. “In the meantime, we’ll do our best to destroy what we find when we find it. Until we locate Samson’s primary means of harvesting and refining this lyrium, we can at least be a bit of a thorn in his side.”

“As you say, Inquisitor,” Cullen answered.

At that, Maxwell glanced to each of us at last and took a breath before formally ending the meeting.

“Council dismissed.”

\------------------------------------------------------

I was the first to leave the War Room on the Inquisitor’s heels, my boots thudding on the ancient, vaguely dwarven runner that carpeted the stone floor of the hall. The rubble from the crumbling outer wall had been pushed back enough to make a safe walking area, but had yet to be completely cleared, reminding me that renovation work was slow; we had only been at Skyhold for a grand total of two days, after all. A blast of frigid air gusted through the gap in the stones, enough to plaster my skirts to my legs and messing up my hair. As I brought up my hands to smooth it all back down, I noticed Maxwell was already far ahead of me, probably heading for his companions to begin arrangements for their outing to Crestwood.

I passed through Josephine’s office, which, at the moment, was a bare shell of what it would become – only a simple old table to serve as her desk and no adornments on the walls. Pushing through the inner door to the main hall, I turned to head back for my room for a bit when I heard a voice almost in my ear.

“What are you?”

I whirled around. There, standing next to the wall and picking at his gloves, was Cole. The spirit cocked his head at me curiously, awaiting an answer, but I was entirely clueless as to what to say to a question like that.

“I…uh…” I cleared my throat. “I’m Tamsyn,” I replied, as if it were obvious.

“I know,” he said, no note of irritation in his tone at my answer. “But you’re not like the others. You’re not like…anyone. It’s confusing.”

“What do you mean?” I asked with brow furrowed, glancing over my shoulder as I moved closer to the wall next to him. Thankfully, there really weren’t any people in the hall to hear us at the moment. All the workers who had been clinging to the scaffolding before were conveniently absent now. Perhaps Cole had unwittingly frightened them off…

“I listen and I hear people,” he said, his voice taking on that ethereal note whenever he tried to explain something. “I hear, here and in their heads. Voices quiet, but always whispering, always.” He paused. “Dwarves are quieter, like Varric. Their song is farther away. It’s more work to listen. But you’re different than them. I can hear you here. But I can’t hear you in your head. It’s-it’s silent.”

My brows rose. Well, that was interesting. “You can’t hear my thoughts?”

“No.”

Another pause. So Cole didn’t know what I was thinking, and I couldn’t dream. What could that mean?

Curious, I asked, “Then how did you know, back at camp, that I was worried that…” I trailed off and glanced over my shoulder, glimpsing a flash of russet fur disappearing beyond the hall’s double doors. Still, I whispered as I finished, “that Cullen hated me?”

His answer was immediate and simple. “I read your body.”

Well, that wasn’t creepy. “Oh.”

Sighing, I kept my voice low and leaned close, almost having to duck under the brim of his hat to see his icy blue eyes. “I’m not from here, Cole. Or the Fade. I’m from beyond the Fade. Another world.”

He blinked. “Like here, but not here?”

“Well…yes,” I answered at length, not really fully understanding what he was thinking, but just rolling with it.

“But if I can’t hear you, how can I help you?” he asked, his tone indicative of frustration. So that’s why he was asking. His innate Compassion was fearful he couldn’t be of help to me and wanted to know why, as if it were an obstacle to be jumped.

I tried to smile reassuringly. “I don’t know, Cole. But if I figure it out, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

He was silent for a few moments, and then…

“All right.”

And he was gone. Just a blink, and he vanished entirely, as if he had never been standing there at all. And I was left there by the wall, alone, not knowing exactly what to make of that strange little conversation.

\------------------------------------------------------

Instead of heading to my room as I had initially planned on doing, as soon as I recovered from my talk with Cole, I decided to cross the hall and find Leliana in the rookery. Best to talk with her now while I was thinking about it.

I ascended the spiral stair carefully, dodging a few scouts with messages along the way. The library was apparently being taken care of by Fiona’s mages, and they had completely immersed themselves in categorizing the ancient tomes left behind by the previous inhabitants, as well as cleaning the existing bookshelves.

Continuing on upwards, I noticed that the ravens’ cages were still lying on the floor, tended to by Leliana’s trusted handlers. The room was filled with squawking and the sound of wings flapping, as well as the musty smell of the birds themselves.

I spied Leliana reading another report next to her future shrine to Andraste, and as I approached, she glanced over the top of the parchment and fixed her sharp eyes on me. “Tamsyn. Is there something you need?”

“Just a moment of time to talk, if you can spare it,” I said, coming to a halt a few paces away and glancing around the room again.

“I can,” she answered simply, pulling her hands – and the parchment – behind her back.

Struggling to think of a way to word my question, I began slowly, “The Inquisitor. He did speak with you about the scouts at Haven, didn’t he? The ones you ultimately withdrew to protect?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. What of it? Is this another decision of mine you find fault with?”

“What did he say?”

She studied me intensely for a few moments before she replied, shaking her head as she glanced away from me. “He told me I did the right thing. That our soldiers aren’t expendable, in his words.”

“He was right,” I said. I was relieved that was indeed Maxwell’s answer, although I had a sneaking suspicion it had been.

Her eyes returned to mine, her expression evidence of her irritation, and as she crossed her arms, I felt suddenly vulnerable under that stare. “I’m not sure I agree. I don’t think we can afford to be quite so idealistic in times like these. They knew what they signed up for. They knew they might be asked to sacrifice their lives for the greater good. We cannot afford to hesitate or to act on emotion. Both could cost us everything.”

Silence. It troubled me that Leliana had been hardened so, and it made me wonder just how good of a person Justinia really was. I wondered how I could help reverse the process that had turned the Nightingale so cold. How I could help the Inquisitor change her outlook on the world.

“May I ask you something else?” I asked eventually.

“Yes.” The tone was clipped.

“Who is the Hero of Ferelden?”

A moment more of silence before Leliana sighed her exasperation. “She is dead, and her name was Lyna Mahariel. Why? I thought you were aware of these things.”

_Ah._

I smirked. “Well, that’s just it, Nightingale. The Hero of Ferelden could actually have been any one of a number of people – a human noble of the Cousland family, a Circle mage, a noble or casteless dwarf, a Dalish or a city elf. Male or female. And they could have been alive or dead, even today. Who the Hero was depended on where Warden-Commander Duncan was at a particular time at the outset of the Blight – and it just so happens he recruited a Dalish woman and doomed the others to death.”

“And this is significant why?”

“Because it demonstrates the importance of _choices_ , Sister,” I said, subconsciously leaning forward as I answered, as if that might help convince her. “Duncan’s simple choice of where to go that week decided who the Hero was going to be, whose life would be saved while everyone else’s was snuffed out.” Her eyes squinted ever so slightly at me as I barreled on. “Because Mahariel lived, every other candidate for Hero died. Once Duncan made that choice, there was no turning back, _even if he wasn’t aware of the ramifications of his decision at the time_. And just like his choice over ten years ago, our choices here, now, will change our lives and the lives of everyone around us forever, whether we know it or not. And that means _everything_ , all the way down to thinking that it’s okay to sacrifice some soldiers for the greater good.”

Silence stretched between us. I could almost hear the blood pumping in my ears, and my hands clenched into fists as I continued.

“I know you’ve spent much of your life involved in the Game, in some form or fashion,” I said, glancing away briefly in my nervousness. “But as much as the Orlesian court would like to think that people are merely pawns to be pushed around a board for their purposes, they’re wrong. No matter how subtle the moves, no matter how elaborate the plan, no matter how skillfully executed, they’re wrong. Despite Orlais being the birthplace of the Chantry, they certainly like to throw away the lives of the Maker’s children on some selfish whim, in revenge for some perceived offense or to gain a political advantage.” I spat those last words. I hated every ounce of the Orlesian Game, and I didn’t really care if she didn’t like it. I shook my head with disdain, my voice filled with conviction as I added, “The Inquisition…we’re supposed to be above that, not part of it.”

She paused, her lips thinned, and then she abruptly turned from me, her head bowed forward. Perhaps she was praying for the Maker to grant her the strength to keep from killing me. I dared not break the silence again, frozen to the spot. Maybe I’d gone a step too far…

But then…

“Tell me something, Tamsyn. Is there a version of this world where Justinia lived? In your book?”

My eyes widened. I had a feeling she wanted to know if someone’s choice, somewhere along the line, had made a difference in life or death for her beloved mentor. Even if it was just a small one. I felt a little twinge of guilt at that, knowing I couldn’t give her the answer she wanted to hear.

“I’m sorry, Sister. But no.”


	29. Chapter 29

Thinking it prudent to leave before the Nightingale decided to feed my eyeballs to one of her ravens, I left her to her thoughts, silently slipping back down the stairwell to the main hall. As I descended, one hand holding my skirts while the other braced against the cold wall for balance, I felt my hip pop uncomfortably, and I was suddenly made aware of just how sore my legs were. In fact, they’d been sore ever since our trek from Haven, but I’d had my mind on so many things during those days, it had been astonishingly easy to forget about the constant discomfort.

I was beginning to understand Cullen’s approach to his withdrawal symptoms.

Unfortunately, the endless stairs of Skyhold served as fantastic reminders of aches and pains, and I felt myself longing once again for a warm bath to soak in and relax my muscles and joints…

Upon finally reentering the main hall, I noticed some of the workers had already returned, climbing up the frighteningly-rickety scaffolding to reach the topmost areas of the walls and even farther to the broken roof. Others were on their hands and knees on the floors, scrubbing the stone. Most of the fallen debris and broken glass was gone, now, the only thing remaining in the way being the ancient chandelier, which had yet to be touched. Skirting around one of these busy workers, I began to head back in the direction of the garden side stairs towards my room. But then I caught a sudden motion out of the corner of my eye, and glancing that way, I glimpsed a gaudily dressed and masked Orlesian woman headed straight towards me, gesticulating wildly with white-gloved hands.

“You there! I require assistance!”

Her shrill voice was thickly accented and slightly muffled due to the full-face mask she wore, which was crafted much like a porcelain doll face, complete with a red heart painted on the lips and lines of tiny blue dots beneath each eye opening. Wrapped about her head and neck was a cream lace scarf, on top of which perched a robin’s egg blue hat, fashionably cocked, with a bunch of what appeared to be quail feathers pinned to the front by a large gold brooch. She wore a matching blue satin gown with gigantic puff sleeves and a ruffled hoop skirt (as was currently popular in court circles), punctuated with cream-colored bows all the way to the hem. Judging from the spotlessness of her attire, she hadn’t walked here...or ridden horseback, for that matter.

I turned to face her fully, admittedly a bit concerned by the franticness of her gestures, though I reminded myself that Orlesian nobles tended to think every little thing was a total disaster. “Yes, what is it?”

She rushed over to me in a swish of satin and the quick click of heels. As she neared, a loud floral perfume assaulted my nostrils and made my eyes water. I could feel a sneeze building within seconds, and I fought desperately to stifle it, blinking rapidly.

“Who in this wretched pile of rocks can tell me where to find Madame Josephine?” she demanded with a slight whine in her tone, obviously affronted at the current state of the fortress, despite the fact it was a recently-discovered ruin. Then, looking me up and down, she said, “You are a maidservant of the castle, are you not? Tell me where the Ambassador is, and I will tip you well.”

My brows rose at that. I fully realized I wasn’t wearing the most lavish clothes in the world, but I _was_ wearing a nicely-dyed surcoat with fur, for crying out loud. And she _still_ thought I was a maidservant?

Well, of course she would. My clothes were Fereldan in style – backwoods and poor, to an Orlesian noblewoman of any standing.

Thoroughly miffed, I crossed my arms. “You can find her past that door,” I said, nodding my head in the direction of the hall that led to Josephine’s office and the War Room. Giving the lady a wry smile, I added, “And there’s no need for pay me for information. I have no need of your coin. I am, after all, an Advisor to the Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste.”

I could tell by the way her hazel eyes slightly widened behind her mask that she instantly realized her mistake. But true to one who had been trained in the art of smoothing ruffled social feathers, she dipped into a very slight and quick curtsy and replied, “My sincerest apologies, Madame. It appears I am unfortunately mistaken regarding your station. I thank you very much for your kind directions. Still,” she paused as she straightened again. “Might I offer a bit of advice?”

 _No_ , was my immediate thought. But instead, I replied with fake interest in my tone, “Of course.”

“Do tell your clothiers that the Inquisition will not get very far dressing themselves like _dog lords_ ,” she said flatly, before marching towards the door I had indicated, her cloying perfume wafting in her wake.

As she disappeared behind the creaking door and it clanged shut at last, I noticed Maxwell had been silently standing a few paces behind her, and he filled the space that she had just been occupying with a slight smile on his face.

“Charming woman, yes?” was his sardonic remark, olive gaze glittering in the light from the windows.

“Oh yes, positively delightful,” I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes and adding in my best Orlesian accent, “ _Eenqueezeetoor_.”

He snorted. “That’s entirely too accurate, Tamsyn.”

“Well. Maybe I’d do well in Orlais, after all,” I replied with a smirk.

He chuckled, gesturing at my dress. “Apparently only after you stop outfitting yourself like a ‘dog lord,’ though.”

I sighed and looked down at my dress. I honestly didn’t think it looked that bad, even if it would naturally be the subject of Orlesian scorn. And it had been made by Mistress Ferguson…or at the very least, on her orders. So it had sentimental value, if nothing else…

“Walk with me?” Maxwell suddenly asked after a moment, to which I nodded in agreement, curious as to what he wanted to talk about.

Fortuitously, he began heading in the exact same direction I had been going before I was intercepted by the Orlesian noblewoman. As we went, I noticed Maxwell had yet to change into anything as comfortable as what I wore now, instead remaining in his basic scale-mail coat. It clinked lightly with each step, the scales flashing in the torchlight. Perhaps he was like Cullen and more comfortable in armor than anything else.

When we finally stopped, it was along the small walkway overlooking the future garden, in front of the bedrooms Josephine had assigned us. For now, the garden was overgrown and full of shrubbery and crumbling stone, and so there wasn’t much to see. And yet the Inquisitor looked out over the small courtyard anyway, his distant eyes obviously focused on things not really out there in the brush, but instead inside his own head.

“ _Inquisitor Trevelyan_ ,” he said slowly, mulling over the words as he put his hands on the wall. “I wanted to ask you, Tamsyn…did you have anything to do with that?”

I leaned against the wall beside him, thinking a moment before I answered. “Not really. Well, I confirmed it was the right choice to make, of course,” I amended. “But the other advisors and Cassandra honestly did it all by themselves.” My brow furrowed at him. “Why?”

He took in a breath and shook his head. “I just…never expected myself to ever be put in a position like this,” he said, forcefully sighing out his exhalation. He glanced down at the stone under his gloved fingers. “When Cassandra approached me yesterday, I could never have guessed it was to bestow the mantle of Inquisitor upon me.” He paused, thumb rubbing at a spot on one of the bricks. “I’m not sure how I feel about it all, just yet. They seem convinced I’m the right man for the job, but _I’m_ not so certain. I don’t feel ready for this.”

“Well,” I said after a moment, “you’ve already been doing the job, really. Now you just have the title to go with it. Besides,” I added reassuringly, “that little speech you gave wasn’t bad at all for your first. You’ve got everyone behind you, that’s for sure.”

He chuckled lightly, one corner of his mouth turning upwards and the corner of his eye wrinkling. “So I’ve been told. Still, with that title, the weight of responsibility feels even greater than it did before. Before, I was just another agent of the Inquisition, despite the fact I was the only one with the means to close the rifts and the Breach.” He shook his head again, “Now, I’m the leader and figurehead…the one everyone in the world _imagines_ when they speak of the Inquisition.”

I glanced over the tall trees in the messy courtyard. “I’ll be honest…it will make things easier. But it will also make things harder, too. You’re still the one going out there and poking around for clues. Inquisitioning, as it were. But you’re also the one with the biggest target on your back, and not just because you’re the Herald anymore.”

He smirked. “I’m apparently also charged with keeping my allies from ripping out each other’s throats on top of everything else. They’re looking to _me_ to solve their personal problems, now.”

I cocked my head curiously. “Has Cassandra pounced on Varric, yet?”

He chuckled again. “Ohhhhh, yes. The dwarf now has quite the shiner as a trophy, I’m afraid. I sent him to the healers to get patched up just before I came back to the keep.”

I winced. I couldn’t imagine how it felt to be punched by the Seeker. “Oh, dear. I suppose he didn’t take that well.”

“Not at all,” Maxwell said. “And she didn’t take well to being deceived for the past year.” He paused for a moment, and then asked, “Any advice on how to mend that situation, by the way? Beyond keeping those two sequestered in their own regions of the castle for the foreseeable future?”

I shrugged and shook my head. “Just give them some time. They’ll work it out. And, uh, keep an eye on Cassandra. Take note of her hobbies,” I said with a wink. “That might just give you an idea on how to fix things.”

“Her hobbies?” Maxwell’s brow rose skeptically, “She has hobbies?”

I snorted. “Yes, Inquisitor, Cassandra has _hobbies_. She _does_ do things other than beat the stuffing out of practice dummies, despite evidence to the contrary.” I grinned. “Just don’t make fun of her when you find out what one of her favorite hobbies _is_.”

He looked abashed. “I would never.”

“Good,” I said, giving him a wry smile. “Wouldn’t want to end up with a shiner like Varric’s, would you?”

“Most certainly not.”

\------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t long after Maxwell departed for the main hall again that I returned to my room. But as soon as I opened the door, I saw Lea there, folding some rags atop the dresser, and…

I gasped as the door shut behind me. There was a tub in the middle of the floor, lined with cloth and full of steaming water. It wasn’t as big as the one I had at my cabin in Haven, but it was a bathing tub, nonetheless.

“Oh! You’re here!” Lea said as she glanced over her shoulder at me. “And here I was just about to fetch you.” She finished her folding and turned around fully, gesturing at the tub. “Well, you already know _now_ , of course, but I managed to pull a bath together for you. I know how much you enjoy them after a long day, and figured you deserved a little respite since we’ve finally settled down here.”

“Lea, you absolute _dear_ ,” I said, rushing over to her and hugging her tightly, making her squeak in surprise. I just as quickly released her, my wide eyes fixed on the water. “How did you manage to get this? And how did you get it all the way in here without spilling it?”

She grinned devilishly, leaning forward and whispering as though she had done something truly terrible. Or illegal. “I stole one of the washtubs that came in on a supply wagon from one of the nearby camps. I filled it at the pump myself and had a couple of the off-duty soldiers carry it for me. The clumsy louts nearly dropped it at the landing in the hall, but they finally got it here.”

I grinned back. “Thank you so much. I’d better use it right away before the water gets cold.”

She nodded, collecting a rag, tucking it into her belt, and then heading for the door. “Excellent. I’ll be on my way, then. Back to the kitchen…for something the Ambassador is planning, I think. Maker knows there’s certainly no shortage of things to do around there.”

“Just promise me something,” I said suddenly, stopping her.

“Oh?” she turned back. “What’s that?”

I pointed at the tub. “Once I’m done, you’ll have it taken back to the pump and filled for you, too?”

She smiled wickedly again. “I was already planning on it. If you hurry, I can squeeze it in before Wicked Grace this evening. And then maybe we can both go to the game without feeling like filthy nugs.”

She then turned to leave once more, but when she reached the door and took hold of the handle, she stopped and added hastily, “Oh, I almost forgot…I took the liberty of unpacking your things and organizing them in the dresser for you.” She pointed at the ancient furniture that adorned the far corner. “I’ll admit, it’s a bit stuffed at the moment, but it’ll have to do until we get more furniture in here.”

“Thank you, Lea,” I said, surprised at how much she was taking upon herself. “I really do appreciate it.”

“Of course, Tamsyn. Enjoy your bath.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, I began stripping down, tossing my clothes into a pile on the floor. Dipping one foot into the linen-lined tub, I audibly sighed my contentment when the warm water enveloped it.

 _It’s going to be so difficult to hurry_ , I thought.

As I sank fully into the soothing water, leaning backwards into the wood, I noticed that all my personal bath items had already been conveniently laid out on a cloth on the floor within arm’s reach. Smiling at Lea’s thoughtfulness, I quickly got to work taking care of my hygiene – washing my hair, bathing and shaving. Though my soap sadly had little to no scent, it made a thick lather that cleaned quickly, and I was thankful to still have it. Shaving had also become much easier than when I had first begun using the dangerous little razor I’d been given, and I managed to shave both my legs and my underarms with no incidents. A little rawness, maybe, but no cuts. I just had to be careful and steady.

Finally feeling like a civilized human being for the first time in days, I reluctantly got out of the cooling bathwater and dried off with a towel Lea had left for me, wrapping my hair up in it when I was done so I could dress myself without the wet locks sticking to my skin. I had just finished putting my underclothes back on when a sudden knock came upon my door, and someone slid a piece of parchment through the gap between it and the floor.

“Message,” the voice called, and then I heard the courier’s footsteps fade away as they returned back the way they had come.

Brow furrowing, I reached down and took the paper in hand, recognizing the golden wax key seal as Josie’s. Breaking it and unfolding the paper, I read the Ambassador’s neat penmanship.

_Lady Tamsyn,_

_You are cordially invited to a small dinner in my office this evening at six of the bells. I do hope to see you there._

_Sincerely,_

_Ambassador Josephine Montilyet_

I shook my head as I smiled. Josephine was still ridiculously formal, even with well-known associates. And what was this ‘six of the bells’? We didn’t even have a working clock or a Chantry belltower here. How in the world was she estimating time? I glanced at the window. Judging from the color of the sky and the angle of the sunlight streaming through the glass, there was, perhaps, only an hour left until approximate time she had in mind.

Sighing, I refolded the paper and set it atop the dresser, beside which lay what remained of my supply of parchment, my books, and my quill-and-ink. I then searched through the drawers to find where exactly Lea had put everything. There were six drawers in total, three on each side. In the top left, she had put my breastplate and weapons; below that, she had neatly folded my tunic and green breeches, along with my belts and old leather bracers; and the bottom left drawer held my spare blanket. In the top right, she had put all my spare rags I used for feminine hygiene, as well as my bandages, poultices, and potions; below that, she stored my empty bags; and the bottom drawer was unused. My nightgown she had draped across my bed, which she had also straightened up in my absence.

Wondering what precisely to wear to Josie’s little dinner, I ultimately decided to swap my dress for my unworn tunic and woolen breeches. The latter were, similarly to my uniform trousers, quite form-fitting, and so they easily tucked into my knee-high boots. The brown linen tunic, though rather loose and reaching over halfway down my thighs, actually fit rather well once I cinched it at the waist with the broad leather belt Harding had given me. Overtop the cuffs of the loose sleeves, I secured the leather bracers, and though I didn’t have a mirror in my room yet, it seemed to be a rather smart-looking outfit, the shades of brown with the splash of dark green complimenting both each other and my hair color. It certainly showed off my figure better than the dress and surcoat, average as it was; it was even tighter than my uniform.

Like the collar of my old oversized tunic, this one was lace-up, too, and I self-consciously pulled at the strings until the _V_ of skin below my throat wasn’t visible at all, tying them off with a loose bow. My hair still damp, I brushed it out and pulled it back into a tight ponytail with the hairband I now wore as a bracelet. It was a miracle I hadn’t lost or broken it yet. Along with my underwear, it was the only convenience of my old life I had left, and as I smoothed my hair and adjusted the band at the base of the ponytail, I briefly wondered which I would lose first…

 _I really could use a mirror_ , I thought as I looked down at myself, twisting around to see my backside and making sure the tail of my tunic wasn’t stuck higher than the front or something equally as embarrassing. I fidgeted with my collar and sleeves and hem a few more times, and then, sighing again, proceeded to return to the main hall for this dinner the Ambassador had conjured.

Better early than late, after all.

\------------------------------------------------------

“Ah! There you are, Tamsyn. Please, have a seat!”

Josephine greeted me cheerfully when she finally entered her office, and I noticed Leliana and Cullen were both with her. I had been waiting there in the empty office for perhaps fifteen minutes, leaning against the wall. The fire had been recently stoked and was roaring in the hearth, casting long shadows against the dark stone. Another rickety table had been pushed up to the Ambassador’s makeshift desk, and four chairs had been arranged around them, creating a larger area for us to sit around. The tables were, unfortunately, of two different heights, and the candlesticks that had been placed on either end were mismatched, one of pewter and the other of brass.

Bless her, she was trying so hard.

Cullen and Leliana passed me with polite nods and took their places on either side of the higher table on the farthest end, while Josephine and I seated ourselves at the shorter one. That put me beside Leliana on the outside edge, near the hall, while Josie and Cullen had their backs to the wall behind the desk, the Ambassador sitting directly across from me. Once we were settled, she nodded to someone who had apparently stopped behind me, and I suddenly saw a wooden plate full of food being set in front of me with a simple wooden fork on the side.

“Oh! Well, this is…” Leliana trailed as she examined the meal set before her. Cullen raised his brows when his own dish was put in front of him, but Josie was all smiles.

It was ram. And potatoes. And apples. The exact same thing we’d been eating the last few days. But the ram was chopped and salted, the potatoes were mashed with meat juices poured over them like gravy, and the apples appeared to have been caramelized and turned into something akin to applesauce. I looked up and exchanged silent glances with Leliana as the serving woman poured us each pewter mugs full of water, and I could have sworn I saw the Nightingale trying desperately to suppress her laughter.

Yes, Josie was trying so very hard.

“Enjoy your meal!” said the serving woman in a jovial tone before she finally slipped from the room, the door creaking behind her and then leaving us in silence.

“This is lovely, Ambassador,” I finally said with a grin and a nod of appreciation, taking my fork in hand.

“Yes, thank you,” Cullen added, removing his vambraces with the slight clink and rattle of buckles and setting them beside his mug. “It is apparent you spent a great deal of effort arranging this for us.”

At that, Leliana finally burst out laughing, slapping her gauntleted hand to her mouth.

Josephine scowled at the spymaster. “Lelia _na_ ,” she said, the final syllable of the Nightingale’s name coming out almost like a child’s whiny protestation. It was accompanied by the Ambassador not so subtly kicking at Leliana’s armored shin under the table. I glanced Cullen’s way to see his firelit amber eyes gradually widening as they flicked between the two women. Judging from the way he was slightly leaning away from the Ambassador, it seemed he was trying to decide whether or not he should vacate the premises before things escalated further.

“I’m sorry,” Leliana finally managed to say as she desperately tried to compose herself. “It’s just…”

“I _understand_ that it is the same thing we have been…forced to consume in recent days,” Josephine replied slowly, obviously trying her best to use tactful words. Maxwell had been right. “But I am _trying_ to make it some semblance of adequate. Besides,” she added, straightening her sleeves and picking up her own fork, “I thought our first attempt at a formal dinner would be a pleasant way to catch up with each other. To discuss how we are settling in and how we plan to proceed. Perhaps even relax and enjoy ourselves for the first time since _running for our lives only days ago_ ,” she emphasized with a sharp glare at Leliana.

“Such a sentiment is much appreciated, Lady Ambassador,” Cullen reassured her, no doubt attempting to smooth her ruffled feathers. “Regardless of the fare.”

“He’s right,” I said, stabbing into the meat on my plate. “That we have the luxury of having a dinner like this, no matter the food, is a blessing.”

At that, there were nods and words of agreement all around. We tucked in silently, then, mostly keeping our eyes on our own plates, and we were halfway through our meals before Leliana looked up questioningly.

“Where is the Inquisitor, by the way? Did you not invite him?”

Josephine sighed, sipping from her mug. “I did, but he said he was busy making plans for the outing to Crestwood and could not attend.”

“Speaking of which,” Cullen said, glancing sideways at the Ambassador, “what is he going to do about mounts? In order to reach Crestwood in a timely fashion, I mean. We lost almost all of our horses in the landslide at Haven.”

I paused with the last forkful of potatoes in my mouth, wincing at the memory and the implication of how the animals had perished. I had conveniently forgotten about that part. We had a good number of steeds in those stables already, along with many of our hunting hounds in their kennels. No doubt the loose war dogs and mabari had been lost, too. There was no way they could have outrun that avalanche.

Josephine smiled, “I took the liberty of obtaining several of the carts and their horses from the caravans that have arrived in the past few days. I offered the merchants and drivers employment here at the castle as compensation, and so there was no longer need for either wagons or anything to pull them. Still,” she sighed, glancing back at her plate, “they are poor mounts for soldiers and scouting parties.”

After a moment, though, she added, “Thankfully, I received word today from Master Dennet that he and his best horses are on their way to Skyhold. Your Corporal Vale assured me in an accompanying message that they are under safe escort, and they should be here in the next few days. He has said that the upper tier of the Inquisition will have first pick from his stock.”

“Excellent,” Cullen replied.

My heart skipped a little in excitement. “Upper tier” meant _me_ , too, I reminded myself. I could finally have a horse of my very own! I felt like a little girl again, very nearly squealing on the inside with giddy anticipation.

But then, after a moment, I realized that it was foolish for me to feel that way. I couldn’t ride, and there was no point in me having a horse when I couldn’t use it – it would be taking up a resource someone else needed, and with everything spread so thin, I couldn’t justify doing something like that because of my own selfishness.

And so, I crushed my own hopes.

Trying my best to hide any disappointment in my tone, I casually scooped some apple onto my fork and said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on that opportunity, Ambassador.”

“ _What?_ ” All three advisors looked at me as though I had three heads. Of course they would think I was nuts. What person in their right mind would pass up on not just the famed horses of Master Dennet, but the very _best_ of those famed horses, to boot?

I suddenly paused with my fork midway to my mouth. “I…” I hesitated, trying to find the words as I slowly lowered the fork again. “Well, I mean…there’s no point, really.” I laughed a bit nervously, though I wasn’t sure why. “I, uh…I can’t ride.”

Leliana glanced to Cullen, and the latter’s brow furrowed inquisitively. “ ‘Can’t’ as in ‘don’t know how’?”

I nodded silently, leaning back in my chair and feeling a little ashamed at the confession. Transportation in Thedas was limited to foot travel, horseback, wagon or carriage, and ships. If one was landlocked, only the first three were an option, and unless one was noble or a farmer, the third option was highly unlikely. That restricted most people to foot travel and horseback, and unless one wanted to take hours or even days longer than was necessary to get from one place to another, knowing how to ride was essential, even if it was just a mule or an old cart horse. This applied to virtually everyone except perhaps alienage elves, dwarves, and privileged nobility in cities like Val Royeaux. Comparatively, I was woefully ignorant, and it meant that I could not travel without aid.

Feeling the need to explain, I clarified hastily, “We _did_ have horses where I’m from. I was just never taught how to ride. They were…luxuries, of a sort. Very expensive to maintain. They were mostly for the wealthy to hunt or race or compete with, or for cattle ranchers who required them for work. None of which was me.” I shrugged and gave a nervous smile, “I mean, the little girl in me always wanted a pony, but…I just resigned myself to it being a silly dream. I never needed one for my day-to-day life, and my family never could afford one, so…” I trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

“I am sorry, Tamsyn,” Josephine apologized, exchanging looks with Cullen. “We do not mean to judge you for your circumstances or your lack of knowledge on the subject.”

“Of course not,” the Nightingale affirmed. “Although this does present a bit of a problem.”

“I could remedy that,” Cullen said suddenly, leaning forward a little. I felt my mouth drop open in response. He was volunteering to teach me? Personally?

Leliana smiled slyly and nodded at him. “Yes, this does seem like something in your purview, Commander.”

“A matter of _security_ , of course,” Josephine agreed, peering at me over the rim of her mug as she sipped at her water again.

There was a little flop in my stomach as I registered the looks on both Leliana and Josephine’s faces.

_I’m in trouble…_

I was fully aware of my dumb gaping at Cullen, but for what seemed like the longest and most embarrassing moment, I couldn’t make myself say anything in response. When I at last spoke, it was with a feeble and halting, “You-you’re offering to teach…me?”

His smile was one of gentle amusement. “If that is something you want.”

“Oh no, Commander,” Leliana corrected with a shake of her head. “It’s something she _needs_. If not you, then someone else will have to teach her. She cannot go with this skill unlearned.” At that, she lifted her eyebrow and looked at me pointedly.

“I did until now,” I protested, though I was unsure as to why I was doing so. Wasn’t this something I had always wanted?

“Yes, but you never had a need to go anywhere outside our base,” Cullen replied. “That could change. And you need to be prepared for such a change, should it occur.”

I suddenly felt rather small under the heaviness of their gazes. “And you’re sure it won’t be any trouble, Commander?” I asked, knowing I would feel immensely guilty if I found out I was taking up precious time because of my ignorance.

“Not at all,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I’ll be teaching you how to _ride_ , not how to fight on horseback. It won’t take many sessions for you to learn the basics, and those are the most important right now.” He shifted in his seat, armor clinking slightly. “Besides, recruitment numbers are currently rather low, and so there’s no better time than the present. Once we establish recruiters in more settlements and spread word of our move to Skyhold, I will be increasingly occupied with training and logistics.”

“Oh,” I said quietly, realizing that I really had little choice in the matter, now. “All right. Thank you.”

He nodded. “We’ll begin as soon as Dennet’s mounts arrive, then.”

At that, the conversation blessedly turned from me and back to recruitment opportunities, relief measures, and other shipments on track to be delivered to Skyhold, and so I let myself slip into silence, concentrating on finishing my food before it got cold. But I couldn’t focus on the sweet taste of the caramelized apples on my tongue for the thoughts screaming in my head.

 _Cullen is going to teach me how to ride a horse. Cullen Stanton Rutherford is real and is going to teach me how to ride a real horse. Dear God, if someone pinches me and I wake up and find out this all really_ was _a dream, I’m going to be_ so _pissed off…_

I pushed my plate back when it was finally clean, taking a rather large and unlady-like gulp of water while trying to refocus on the chatter between the other advisors. It seemed that the perfumed lady in blue who had so kindly advised me about my attire had been one Comtesse de la Forte, and she had just recently lost one of her country estates to the conflicts between the Freemen of the Dales and the participating members of the War of the Lions. She had donated any salvageable furniture and supplies within to the Inquisition, on the promise that peace would be brought to the region so that she and her family would eventually be able to rebuild their lost summer home.

“Though I am certain these Freemen may pose a threat to the Inquisition at some point, for now, I am pleased to simply focus on a task as simple as retrieving furnishings,” Josephine remarked. “It is something of a relief after that dangerous retreat from Haven.”

“The dangerous retreat that took place all of five days ago,” Cullen reminded, his eyes drifting downwards as he rubbed a temple with two fingers.

Five days. Just five days. It felt like a _year_ had passed since then. It was a testament to how quickly the Inquisition was moving…how we were all forcing each other to keep going forward, no matter how weary we were.

“How is everyone faring?” Leliana asked, her tone gentler than I had heard come from her in some time.

Josephine sighed in response. “Well enough, I suppose. I still have terrible dreams of that night, but…” she trailed, glancing down at her lap. “I will recover. There are some who were not so lucky.” Pausing, she looked back up at the Nightingale. “You?”

“I am well,” Leliana agreed simply, turning to Cullen. “What about you, Commander?”

“I will admit, the days have been long since our retreat from Haven, but ultimately, I must agree,” he replied. “I am well enough.”

“And our forces?”

He, too, sighed. “I won’t lie. Our soldiers were dispirited shortly following Corypheus’s assault. But after Trevelyan’s coronation, they have gained a new sense of purpose. They are eager to bring the fight to our enemies, but I’m afraid we’re not yet ready to take on our true foes. We don’t have the numbers or the skills for that, right now. Until then, we’ll need to keep our forces occupied and focused in their efforts, or we risk losing their enthusiasm…and with it their morale.”

At that, Leliana turned to me. “And what about you, Tamsyn? You may have known all of this was coming, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t suffered your own personal trauma, or that it is somehow less severe.”

“Yes,” Josephine added, meeting my gaze. “The Commander told us the attack on Haven was your first experience in personal combat. I know such things can be…haunting.” She cocked her head at me, leaning forward a little as she asked, “Are you well?”

I huffed out a breath, looking down at my plate. “I…actually have been able to put the whole thing behind me faster than I expected.” _Probably because I can’t dream about it_ , I thought. “Honestly, I’m not sure if that is a good or a bad thing.”

“I’d say being able to move on so quickly is a good thing,” Leliana observed.

“Though you fought well,” Cullen added, “let us hope it is the only time you are forced to do so.”

“Oh, she fought _well_?” Leliana’s brows rose at Cullen’s choice of words. “That seems high praise, coming from you, Commander. Do tell. Perhaps we can use such a story of valor to our advantage.”

His brow furrowed. “It was when she slew her trainer’s killers. I don’t imagine it’s a tale she would like to revisit so soon.”

I shook my head. “It’s…fine. Besides, it was a stupid thing to do. Delia was already dead. I couldn’t save her. I let myself give in to emotion and nearly died as a result. And I put _your_ life at risk, too,” I added, pressing my lips together as I looked at Cullen.

He smirked, “I said you fought _well_ , not that you fought with a level head. Your maneuvers were performed with precision, even if you did foolishly throw yourself into further danger in the process.”

“Wait, you nearly died _and_ put the Commander at risk, as well?” Josephine repeated incredulously, turning to Cullen for clarification. “You never told us that part!”

“No, you didn’t,” Leliana added, her brows arching high as she glanced between Cullen and me. “We had no idea the incident was so dire. We could barely see anything from the Chantry for all the fires and the smoke…What happened with the two of you?”

“Oh, it was rather dramatic, actually,” I said, feeling a sudden urge to take advantage of this little opportunity to both tease Cullen and stroke his ego a bit. Too, it was obvious the two women wanted to hear a story of derring-do from the attack in order to use it as Inquisition propaganda, and I was more than willing to give it to them. “In fact, you can’t get as dramatic as what happened in that instant in the best Orlesian theatre.”

“Oh, Maker,” Cullen cursed, putting his head in his hand, “It was _not_ that-”

“ _Hush_. Yes it was,” I interrupted, casting a wicked grin his way as Leliana and Josephine gave me their undivided attention. “Like I said, I was a bit idiotic. I gave in to blind rage after seeing the Corporal fall to two Venatori while she was trying to protect a pair of wounded soldiers. I have no idea what came over me, and at the time, I didn’t care about anything other than seeing those bastards dead. The Commander is right; it was foolish. But in that moment, all I wanted was vengeance, and so I took it.”

“You singlehandedly slew the two Venatori who murdered the Corporal,” Leliana supplied.

“Yes. But I stupidly neglected to pay attention to my surroundings, and there was a Red Templar quickly bearing down on me without me ever being aware.”

Josephine put her hand to her mouth with a soft gasp, her eyes widening.

“I thought I heard someone calling my name, but I wasn’t sure where it was coming from,” I continued, glancing at Cullen, who had closed his eyes with his head still in his hand – from embarrassment or reliving the memory, I wasn’t sure. “And then I felt something hit me, really hard. I took a tumble…and when I looked up, I saw the Commander’s boots in my face. There he was, standing over me while this hulking red lyrium monstrosity charged both of us.”

“He knocked you to the ground,” Leliana said with a chuckle. “What a gentleman.”

“Oh, my!” Josephine breathed, her eyes still wide as she propped her elbows on the table and her chin atop her hands. “What happened then?”

Cullen groaned, but I ignored it.

“Well, he tried to get his shield up, but the Red Templar was too fast. He took a hit in the chest that sounded like a whipcrack and went flying backwards into some crates. Splinters exploded everywhere.”

“So _that’s_ how he got that wound,” Leliana remarked, glancing at Josephine.

“I did not _fly_ ,” Cullen retorted, his golden eyes glaring as he finally looked back up at me.

“You _flew_ ,” I repeated defiantly. “You were tossed clean off your feet, I _saw_ you.”

“And then?” Josephine was practically demanding at this point.

“So there was the Red Templar, trying to go after the Commander. I had no idea what to do…I was frozen in place with fear. And then, all of a sudden, I see this flash of silver, and the thing goes reeling backwards,” I said, snapping my fingers to emphasize the quickness of the throwing knives. “I look and I realize there’s a dagger suddenly sticking out of the Templar’s chest, buried up to the hilt. I glance back to the pile of broken crates and what do I see? The Commander rising back to his feet like a phoenix from the ashes and throwing another dagger, buying himself more time.”

“Very nice, Commander,” Leliana nodded her appreciation of such a maneuver at Cullen.

“Oh, that _is_ rather dashing,” Josephine remarked, casting the Commander a smile.

“Of course, Vivienne and Solas finished the Templar off themselves after that,” I said, concluding the tale. “But regardless…the Commander _did_ save my life. In a rather courageous fashion, I might add.”

“ _Heroic_ ,” Josephine amended. “He not only put himself between you and harm’s way, but he also fully took the punishment of a strike meant for you.”

“Like something out of books,” I agreed, grinning at Cullen, whose ears were turning pink.

“Yes!” Josephine said excitedly, almost bouncing in her chair. “It is the stuff of romantic legends! And I am most certainly writing it down for circulation amongst the masses. With that, and the tales of the Herald’s deeds, they will come flocking to our recruiters…”

“You’re joking!” Cullen protested. “You can’t-”

“I’m not, and I most certainly _can_ , Commander,” Josephine retorted sharply, meeting his gaze fearlessly. “Try to stop me, and I’ll add more embellishments.”

His mouth dropped open. “‘ _More’_? You’re already _planning_ on embellishing it?”

“And why not?” Leliana asked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “ _We_ know the truth, and that is enough, no?”

Cullen smacked his hand to his forehead and groaned again.

“Andraste preserve me. Tamsyn, what in the Maker’s name have you done?”


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It staaaaaarts.... ;)

When we finished at last with Josephine’s little dinner and couldn’t legitimately put off other duties any longer, we began to clean and straighten her office so that the Ambassador could continue her work that evening in a neat and orderly environment. Cullen readjusted the tables, Leliana and I the chairs, and Josephine herself took the dishes in hand to return to the kitchens; she wanted to offer her own personal thanks to the staff for doing their best with so little, and the rest of us asked her to pass along our gratitude as well. The Lady Ambassador then disappeared into the throne room in a graceful swirl of shimmering gold, and the Nightingale just as quickly vanished down the hall to the War Room, mentioning something about checking on her agents’ positioning near Crestwood before going back to her rookery.

Thus, rather suddenly, Cullen and I were left alone together. Again.

 _It’s almost like they planned it_ , I thought, unable to prevent myself from growing a little suspicious of the two women…

“I’m honestly hoping they’re bluffing about spreading that tale,” Cullen muttered after a moment, breaking me out of my thoughts. He bumped his hip into the newest table to make sure it was flush with the throne-room-side wall, the wood’s sharp whine against the stone loud enough to make me wince in discomfort. The construction work in the keep had long ceased for the day, and so the quiet that followed was almost deafening.

I couldn’t help but chuckle a little at his words, the sound echoing in the relatively empty room. “I’m almost certain they’re not. But even if they _do_ exaggerate it a bit,” I said, crossing my arms atop my chest, “the base act is still the same. You put yourself in danger to save my life.” I paused, meeting his eyes even as doing so made butterflies flutter faintly in my stomach. “Regardless of how you see it, that’s nothing short of heroic, Cul- _Commander_.”

 _Stay professional,_ I reminded myself, although it was increasingly difficult for me to keep from addressing him by his name, for some reason.

Cullen was silent for a moment, glancing towards the hearth, his throat visibly bobbing as he swallowed. I watched, seemingly unable to tear my gaze away from his eyes, even with his face turned slightly away from me. I marveled at how reactive his irises were to lighting; sunlight and bright candlelight pulled the golden rays to the forefront, and shadow softened them to a deep and dark honey, but it was flickering flame that brought out that selfsame fire in his eyes – that warm amber hue that made it difficult to breathe…

He hissed out a sigh and shook his head, briefly letting his eyelids slide shut and breaking the spell his gaze had put me under. “Twisting my deeds into histrionics to _lure_ people to us-”

“-isn’t that much different than Chantry tales inspiring young children to join the Templars,” I finished, raising my eyebrows at him.

His eyes narrowed as he returned his gaze to me, and his lips thinned. “ _Precisely_. And neither informs the potential recruit of the true danger involved,” he said, his tone laced with bitterness as it dropped into a near growl. “Romanticizing feats of arms may make for valuable entertainment, but it also leads well-intentioned fools to their doom.”

He wasn’t just talking about potential Inquisition recruits, either. He was talking about himself, too.

 _Damn_.

I was silent for a moment at that, the only other sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the slight clinking of Cullen’s armor as he shifted his weight. My eyes drifted from him to the flames, and then back again as I thought about his words. He had a point, of course. He didn’t want recruits into the Inquisition who weren’t fully aware of what they were getting themselves into, and Leliana and Josephine’s plans obviously were in conflict with that desire.

At last, I sighed and shrugged. “Well…regardless of what the Ambassador and Spymaster decide to do with that story, I told it because someone needed to hear it. I never properly thanked you for saving me, and it warranted recognition.”

The hard angles of his face seemed to soften a little at that. Pausing, I glanced down at my toes and added, “Remember what you said earlier? What you told me to contemplate?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone quieter. “Why?”

“I…don’t have to think about it, really,” I answered, looking back up at him. “I _know_ why I thought you shouldn’t have saved me. And even though I know you told me I didn’t have to share…I think I want to.” I took a breath. “It’s because I thought I wasn’t worthy of being saved. I…didn’t make the right choices at Haven. I didn’t act soon enough. Delia died with so many others, and I honestly thought it was my fault. And…” I paused, feeling a lump of emotion form in my throat. “I thought if I was so stupid that I couldn’t do the right thing, then…then maybe I deserved that Red Templar’s strike.”

Silence stretched between us again, and it was heavier, this time. It felt like a weight on my shoulders, pressing me down into the stone beneath my feet. Cullen shifted again, draping his hands atop the pommel of his sword, as he had a habit of doing.

“I know,” he said finally.

My brow furrowed in confusion. “Uh…what? I mean…what do you mean, ‘I know’? How did you…?”

A flicker of a wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and there was a flash in his firelit eyes. “I knew exactly why you said what you did. I knew the moment you said it five days ago. I just wondered if you were fully aware of the reason, yourself. And if you weren’t, then I wanted you to come to that realization, so you could face it.”

I felt my mouth open, and then closed again. And then everything just… _clicked_.

Of course he knew. Of course he understood. Cullen Rutherford knew all too well the feeling of being unworthy of a second chance…the guilt of not acting sooner. He knew exactly how _I_ felt, and he had wanted me to confront those feelings head-on…to recognize that I truly _hadn’t_ wished I’d been left for dead. That instead, I merely wondered why someone else thought I was worthy of being redeemed when _I_ knew I had failed so miserably.

Had he forgiven me, in his own way?

Suddenly, I jumped as the door to the main hall creaked open, and Lea’s head poked through. Her large eyes flicked between Cullen and me, and she asked tentatively, “Oh…I’m sorry. Am I interrupting anything?”

“Oh, nothing that important,” I said, sparing a glance to Cullen. “What is it?”

“Well,” she said with a brief grin and nod to the Commander. “I just wanted to let you know the game starts soon, if you’re coming. It’s near the building they’re fixing up as a tavern.”

I had nearly forgotten about Varric’s Wicked Grace match. “Oh, right! I’ll be there in a minute!”

She nodded again in understanding and ducked back out, closing the door behind her.

“Well, it, um… it looks like I have a game to get to,” I said with an awkward chuckle. The transition from solemnity to levity was rather abrupt, and the interruption in our conversation was difficult to smooth over.

“And I should be returning to the barracks tower,” Cullen replied. “Although,” he took a stride or two nearer. “Since we seem to be heading in the same direction, perhaps you would allow me…?” he trailed his question, dropping his nearest hand from his sword and proffering his crooked elbow.

He was offering to escort me to the game.

Heat bloomed in my neck and cheeks, and I knew I was blushing fiercely, most likely visible even in the light of Josie’s hearth. Bitter or not, jaded or not, it seemed nothing could take the chivalric and gentlemanly nature out of Cullen Rutherford. And just like I had used that nature to flatter him pink during dinner, I firmly believed he was now using it to turn those tables on _me_.

“I would be honored, Ser Rutherford,” I managed to reply at length, miraculously without stuttering. I bowed a little at the waist, then slipped my hand into the interior bend of his arm, noting the feel of supple leather beneath my fingers - part of the quilted gambeson he wore.  And yet, despite the thickness of those layers, I could still detect the flex of muscle beneath them as we began walking together through the door and into the hall.

We walked in silence for a few moments, heading for the entrance to the keep, and I noted there was no one else in the throne room now save us. We skirted around the scaffolding, eventually emerging in the evening air, our breath leaving us in misty clouds, even with Skyhold’s warmer microclimate. My footsteps were quiet in comparison to Cullen’s, whose strides were punctuated with the usual jingle of chain and the rhythmic _clack_ of his scabbard on his belt, which became more pronounced as we descended the keep stairs. In the distance, near the ruins of the future Herald’s Rest, I could see a gathering of people coalescing around barrels and crates and old tables, backlit by a roaring bonfire, and I thought I spied Varric in their midst.

I had just politely slipped from Cullen’s side, opening my mouth to offer a few parting words, when Hawke emerged from the shadows near the prison and began sauntering towards us. Both Cullen and I stopped in our tracks, and the Commander shook his head as the Champion neared.

“Why is it no surprise to see _you_ in the midst of all this chaos, Hawke?” Cullen’s voice came out in a low, rasping growl that set the hairs on the back of my neck on end.

“The same reason it’s no surprise to see _you_ in the midst of a bunch of religious fanatics,” Garrett quipped back with equal contempt.

I tensed, glancing between the two men, unsure of how this situation was going to resolve itself. I looked back at the group gathered for cards, and Varric met my eyes, but merely grinned at me, seemingly oblivious to the brewing hostility between Cullen and Garrett…

But then, suddenly, the two men broke out into broad smiles, taking easy strides towards each other, reaching out, and clapping their forearms together with the sharp sound of metal striking metal. They grasped each other’s arms with a firm shake, and as they did so, relief flooded me. Sighing, I allowed myself to smile too. They were on good terms after all.

“It’s good to see you again, Knight-Captain,” Hawke said with a slight inclination of his head.

“And you, Champion,” Cullen replied, nodding as he pulled back. “Though, I no longer go by that title. I know it’s probably difficult for you to believe, but I left the Order for good when Seeker Cassandra recruited me into the Inquisition.”

“Honestly, I don’t use mine much anymore, myself, so I understand,” Garrett chuckled. “And as for your leaving the Templars, Varric told me about that in one of his letters. Something along the lines of ‘the world is coming to an end,’ I think was what he said. And it seems he wasn’t far off the mark,” he shook his head, briefly glancing towards the dwarf and his company in the distance. “But in all seriousness, I think it’s a good thing you did, considering how the rest of your former fellows seem to have gone utterly bonkers.”

“Yes,” Cullen said, shaking his head slowly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “First the rebellion, then the red lyrium…Maker, as if things couldn’t get any worse than they already were.”

Hawke crossed his arms. “You’d have thought what happened to Meredith would have been a warning sign. Last I checked, any sane person would see getting turned into a statue by the stuff as a massive deterrent.”

Cullen laughed mirthlessly, his hand dropping to his side. “Apparently not. From our sources, we’ve gotten word they’re not just using it to empower their weapons. They’re imbibing it like regular lyrium, and in higher dosages.”

Hawke visibly shuddered. “Andraste’s _tits_ ,” he cursed, then added, “Varric told me some Templars were persuaded from the rebel ranks and joined the Inquisition. Do you think they were headed down that road, too?”

“Now that we know who is behind the spread of the red lyrium from Kirkwall, without a doubt,” Cullen answered. “They were _all_ meant to be mindless soldiers for this Elder One, commanded by someone you probably remember, Champion.”

“Oh?” Hawke’s eyebrows rose. “And who is that?”

“Samson.” The name came out almost as a snarl.

“Samson?” Garrett repeated, his tone one of incredulity. “As in, the same Samson I helped get off the streets and back into the Order?”

“The very same,” Cullen confirmed. “He is Corypheus’s general, and it is evident he holds the Red Templars under his sway. He was there when the Elder One descended on Haven. I thought I recognized him,” the Commander gestured to me, “and Tamsyn confirmed it.”

The Champion whistled. “Now _that_ is something. You know, back in Kirkwall, I never would have imagined you being pitted against him. Commander Cullen versus General Samson…that’s going to make a fine story for the history books.”

I could see Cullen’s lip curling at the thought of more stories. But before he could reply, Varric’s call suddenly echoed across the stone.

“Hawke! Fortune Teller! You coming?” the dwarf waved beyond the throng of attendees.

“Right,” Cullen said at length, glancing between us. “You two have a get-together to attend. I’ll not keep you from it any longer. If you need me, I’ll be in the barracks. Champion, Tamsyn,” he nodded to us before striding off into the darkness past the armory, the shadows quickly swallowing him.

\------------------------------------------------------

Ostensibly, most of the people who attended the match that night had done so for the sole purpose of meeting the famed Champion of Kirkwall in person, though I saw several familiar faces and regulars from Haven, besides Lea and Varric. Scout Jim had returned to play several rounds, as had Knight-Captain Rylen, and even the whole of Bull’s Chargers joined in the fun – though not without bemoaning the lack of liquor.

Varric opened the game with a few non-betting rounds to warm everyone up, in which I participated but ultimately lost. Once the betting with real money started, I withdrew to simply observe, knowing if I tried my luck then, it would only result in disaster. Amusingly enough, the minimal amount of coin on everyone’s person didn’t prevent them from betting more than they had available; as Josephine apparently still had all our salaries kept safely stowed in her lockbox until withdrawal, several participants ended up writing their bets as “I.O.U”s. I lost count of how many rounds were played, getting lost in the merriment of camaraderie and the captivating storytelling Hawke and Varric had engaged in. They didn’t share anything I wasn’t already aware of, but it was fun to hear those tales from their perspectives…and with their own unique embellishments.

When at last I retreated to bed sometime after midnight, it was with a much lighter heart than I had possessed since…well, before the fall of Haven. The events of the evening had done much to lift my spirits, and when sleep finally claimed me, I was eager to see the morning.

The next day, I awoke to the news that Hawke was already gone. The Champion had departed before dawn for Crestwood in order to meet with his contact ahead of Maxwell. The Inquisitor himself had ultimately decided to take Varric, Vivienne, and Blackwall with him on his sojourn in the Champion’s wake, and those three were hardly visible that day, busily preparing for their outing.

Considering the recent spat between Varric and Cassandra, it was probably wise of the Inquisitor to take the former with him and leave the latter at Skyhold, allowing the both of them some much-needed space. That, and Maxwell had plans to address the red lyrium outbreak during this particular trip, and I knew Varric would probably appreciate being brought along to see it taken care of. Additionally, Vivienne was, apparently, eager to leave the mountains behind for a while as well, as I learned that Maxwell had volunteered to help her track down the lost Circle tomes in Ferelden. And on top of that, Blackwall had also informed the Inquisitor of the Warden artifacts that could help the cause, some of which were also in King Alistair’s realm.

Thus, the day after Hawke left Skyhold, Maxwell, too, departed with his chosen party in tow, his primary destination Crestwood, but with stops planned at the Storm Coast and the Hinterlands. It was predicted that he would be gone for approximately two weeks, leaving the rest of us to keep planning, preparing, and managing our forces at Skyhold in the meantime.

During those two days, I was pleased to learn that my uniform had finally been cleaned and returned to my quarters. Although the climate of Skyhold was incredibly stable and much warmer than the outside environs, I found that neither my tunic nor my dress was quite warm enough to suit me. Thus, the thick quilting, wool, and leather of my uniform were more than welcome again, as was the surprising warmth of my fur-trimmed hat. I decided against using my breastplate while staying at Skyhold, although I did arm myself with my sword and dagger…just in case.

Perhaps this attire would be seen in a more positive light by foreign dignitaries.

While the Inquisitor was away, Josephine and Leliana occupied themselves with the oversight of the workers assigned to the refurbishment of the fortress, as well as the overall beautification of the keep. Messengers conveyed to them measurements of various areas around the castle so that rugs, tapestries, curtains, and other cloth-based decorations could be made by our own weavers or requisitioned from elsewhere. The hired engineers and masons also suggested improvements to the architecture both functional and ornamental, which the two women discussed and approved as they arose. On top of that, I overheard the topic of the Winter Palace being discussed more than a few times, and it was evident they were already preparing for the Inquisition’s presence at Halamshiral.

Dorian had busied himself with helping manage the library, examining what tomes the shelves already possessed and putting in requests for more books he thought would prove useful to the researchers of the Inquisition. He wrote several letters to contacts within the Imperium for more of these items, especially the more obscure titles, realizing that many of the records on Tevinter written by authors from southern Thedas were more than a little biased against his homeland and lacking in proper perspective.

Occasionally, I also caught flashes of Cole here and there. The spirit seemed content helping to tend to the injured and weary refugees and those soldiers who were still nursing terrible wounds from the battle at Haven. Most of the time, the surgeon never knew he was there…either that, or he made her forget his presence with his signature power. When he wasn’t giving out food and water to the needy, I spotted him at various other remote locations around the fortress all through the day. At one point, I thought I saw him perched on a precarious stone ledge, slicing plums from the fresh shipment of fruit that had just arrived from the Orlesian heartlands.

Though Bull himself stayed at the keep, just in case he was needed, Krem and the Chargers were sent out on a mission to Therinfal not long after the Inquisitor’s departure. I warned them of the lingering presence of the Envy demon before they left, knowing they would inevitably encounter its jealous form while looking for clues as to what exactly went on at the abandoned Seeker fortress. Between Ser Barris’s information and what the Chargers ultimately found there, perhaps the Inquisition would gain a better picture of how the red lyrium was spreading amongst the Templars and where in southern Thedas the highest in the chain of command had scattered to…

As was expected, Sera made mischief wherever and however frequently she could manage it, often harassing the noble guests who dared to linger out in the open, much to the shock and dismay of Josephine, who was forced to make diplomatic excuses on the Red Jenny’s behalf. I didn’t encounter the good Comtesse again, but there were plenty more just like her, and I couldn’t say I completely disapproved of Sera’s actions. What time she didn’t spend throwing rotten fruit at the nobility from the heights of Skyhold’s towers she instead spent lying on her back in the courtyard, hands behind her head, watching the wisps of clouds lazily floating above her with a blade of grass between her teeth. Her soon-to-be haunt, the future Herald’s Rest, was in the process of being fully renovated, and the masons and carpenters were halfway finished patching the crumbling walls and rebuilding the roof. Across the way, the armory was undergoing the same treatment, its own rooftop ready for new shingles.

Cassandra spent most of her time training, or, if not, meditating near the armory. Judging from the wide berth most people gave her, she was still seething over Varric’s secret about Hawke. Occasionally, I would see her speaking with the various foremen around the courtyard, especially those involved with the tower and bridge restorations. At the current rate of progress, it seemed most of the work on those outdoor features would be finished by the time the Inquisitor returned to Skyhold. Nearby Orlesian quarries and Fereldan lumber camps had been happy to help provide stone and wood in exchange for protection from bandits, Venatori, and Red Templar forces, and so, within the first week of discovering the castle, we already had established a means of garnering all the raw building materials we could possibly need.

All these projects and events I observed from a distance, happy to spend a few days to myself and leaving everyone else to their business. I also used the constant hubbub as an excuse to avoid Solas as much as I could; I found ways to keep myself as far away from his rotunda as possible and still remain in the castle. The fewer opportunities he had to speak with me, the fewer chances he would have to try and needle me for more information he could use to his own ends. Solas had been kind to me thus far, that was true. But I still didn’t trust him. At all. The only reason he was being helpful and civil to the Inquisition was because it furthered his own agenda. By all rights, to him, this entire reality never should have existed. If he really _did_ believe my story about my origins and also believed his theory regarding how I got here, then _I_ was probably more real to him than anyone else in Thedas…primarily because my existence wasn’t caused by his past decisions.

In fact, I could imagine Solas seeing me as a very real rival – someone who could throw a wrench in his plans if allowed to – and thus I needed to continue to be extremely careful about how much I allowed him to know regarding my own knowledge. He already knew _I_ knew about the ultimate fate of the Inquisition. What I needed to make sure to avoid was revealing my knowledge that he was Fen’harel and that he had plans to do exactly what Corypheus wanted to do from the outset.

I could change that, though. I really could throw a wrench in the works, if I wanted to. I could reveal him right now and have him executed. I could end Fen’harel’s threat to the world with but a few words to the war council.

And yet, if I did, there would be no one to keep the Anchor stable until Corypheus’s defeat, and Maxwell would most likely die.

_Damn you, Solas…_

If only I could make him see reason. Try to persuade him somehow. My circumstances weren’t that different from his. I lost my world, too, and I had to make do, just as he was being forced to do. I had to learn to survive, just as he had to. Hadn’t he warned me not to try to find a way back to my home world, even if there happened to be something left to go back to? Hadn’t he told me not to let it haunt me and tempt me into foolishness?

_You should heed your own advice, Fen’harel._

\------------------------------------------------------

On the second day after the Inquisitor’s departure, I took another of what had become my routine morning walks around the battlements, observing the progress to the castle’s reconstruction and the traffic traveling to and from the keep. The air was filled with the rhythmic sounds of hammers beating nails into wood and picks driving into mortar and stone. The shouting of merchants and servants, workers and soldiers, echoed overtop this incessant racket and rang harshly against Skyhold’s walls.

There was a large area of courtyard free where the future merchant stalls would be built, and a full training schedule at the castle had at last been established there, with sessions held both morning and evening to accommodate the guard rotations. Cullen trained the first half of the soldiers right after sunrise, while Rylen picked up the rest in the afternoons, just before supper.

I observed one of these morning sessions from my vantage point on the gatehouse, leaning against a merlon and appreciating the view below; Cullen had his back to me, so I wasn’t sure he even knew I was watching as he weaved in and out between the lines of soldiers, checking grips and stances and barking cadences. After Haven, enlistment in the Inquisition’s forces had stagnated, and so everyone currently in the army could no longer be considered green recruits. With that in mind, and in light of recent events, Cullen’s drills had become considerably more vigorous.

All sparring sessions and exercises were performed in full armor, no exceptions. More Templars from Barris’s fellows had been added to the mix, not just as trainers to teach maneuvers against mages and demons, but as practice foes to spar with. I realized Cullen’s strategy was to better prepare his men to face the Red Templars in the field, but with many of the Reds being more monster than human, I wondered if the same tactics would really apply to them…

My eyes wandered over the troops’ flashing helms, and it was then I saw a curious sight. In the area of thick grass next to the kitchens and near the old hay barn, I saw what appeared to be a Templar sitting cross-legged on the ground. Beside them was a child of, judging from their size, approximately ten years of age, and who appeared to be making some sort of small shapes in the air with smoke and careful gestures.

A mage child.

Curious, I found myself descending the walls and heading in their direction to get a better view of what was going on, as I had never observed anything like this before, not even in Haven. As I crossed the courtyard, I noted that Ser Barris was standing nearby, arms crossed as he leaned one shoulder against the wall of the kitchen stairs and observed the odd pair in the grass. He looked up as I slowly approached and pushed off from the wall, offering me a small smile as he neared.

“My lady,” he greeted me with a small bow. “Tamsyn, are you not? I don’t think we have officially met.”

“We haven’t,” I said with a smile, “but you have it right. And you are Ser Barris, most recently of Therinfal Redoubt.”

“I am,” he replied, glancing away briefly. His eyes, I noticed, were the same color green as Maxwell’s, just brighter, as if lit from behind by a lamp. “I’ve been told I have you to thank for helping me convince the others to leave that wretched place.”

My smile widened, and I nodded. “I may have had something to do with that, yes. But, ultimately, the Herald was the one who chose to write the letter inviting you to Haven and warning you of the danger. Or confirming your suspicions, rather.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “ _Maker_. After we settled here, Cullen told me about the Envy demon and the red lyrium. I knew things were bad but…I never expected _that_.” He visibly shuddered, his armor shimmering in the sunlight with the movement, and sighed. “We barely escaped annihilation, and regardless of who sent the final order, it is apparent you were the catalyst for its delivery. You have my sincere thanks, and the thanks of my comrades.”

“I was glad to be of help, Ser Barris, and I am thankful you and your company were able to escape.”

At that moment, there was a loud and long peal of laughter that rang off of the stone, and we both glanced towards the Templar and child where they sat. The former, I now realized, was a late-middle-aged woman, her mousy-brown hair plaited into a thick braid and pinned into a bun at the base of her skull, the faintest streak of grey running through it like a silvery ribbon. She smiled broadly at the child, deepening the crow’s feet around her eyes, the color of which I couldn’t determine from the distance at which I stood. The latter was a young girl, her face round like Sean’s, made even rounder by her smiling cheeks. Her bright, golden blonde locks had been cut into a short, pixie-like style, and she wore a simple green linen frock.

“Ser Fleurice,” Barris explained, his voice quiet. “And Marianne. The child was among the rebel mages brought from Redcliffe. According to Fiona, Marianne is deaf and mute, abandoned by her parents when her abilities manifested. She communicates with others through her magic, although I am told she has a talent for reading lips.”

I watched as Marianne finished a flourishing detail to the picture she had drawn in the air for Fleurice – what looked to be a simple illustration of a castle. The Templar mouthed a reply, slowly enough that Marianne could read her words, and then a brief flash of blue erased the smoke drawing, and Marianne started over.

A smile slowly spread across my face. “So Marianne is just talking to Fleurice through pictures, and Fleurice is clearing the air so she can continue.”

Barris nodded. “What you see is, apparently, the extent of Marianne’s magical prowess. Not enough to really cause anyone harm, but still enough to be dangerous for her, as any amount of magic will draw a demon’s attention across the Veil. No one assigned a Templar to her, by the way, but Fleurice has taken it upon herself to be her guardian.” Edging closer, he added in a lower voice, “She’s been that way ever since I first met her. Concerned herself with the welfare of mage children, that is. And as good as that is of her to do, I fear for her.”

My brow furrowed. “Why?”

He sighed again. “Fleurice joined the Order after her own child was sent away to the Circle. Her husband was killed sometime during the Blight years, and her daughter was taken from her not long after it ended. I think Fleurice joined the Templars in hopes of one day crossing paths with her daughter again in one of the Circles. But that dream was shattered when the Nevarran Accord was nullified. And so far,” he shook his head slowly. “Nothing. She wasn’t among the rebel mages. But if she wasn’t made Tranquil and passed her Harrowing, there is still a chance she yet lives out there, somewhere. Fleurice has asked Fiona about her, but the Grand Enchanter apparently doesn’t know where she could be. And until we find her, Fleurice will keep seeking closure.”

“And, in the meantime, finding comfort in caring for mage children when she couldn’t care for her own,” I said with a nod of understanding. That poor woman.

We both watched in silence as Marianne continued to use her little smoke clouds to draw pictures from her imagination, pointing to them, gesturing questioningly, and reading Fleurice’s lips as the Templar answered her. After a moment, Barris looked down at the ground and spoke again. “They say you can divine the future, or that the Maker has granted you insight into what will happen to the Inquisition later on,” he began. “I know I probably shouldn’t do this, but I can’t help but ask…What future is there for the Order? If there is one at all?”

I was silent for several moments before I finally answered. “I don’t know, Ser Barris. That is the honest truth. But I will tell you this: it’s something you and your fellows will have to decide. You have the power to change things. What the Order becomes in the future…that’s entirely up to you.”

At that, he nodded his acceptance, taking a breath. “I see.”

I had just returned my attention to Marianne’s magic drawings when the shouting in the courtyard suddenly became much louder in volume, a great clatter coming from the direction of the gatehouse. Slightly alarmed, I moved a little around the wall to where I could see the source of the commotion, and my eyes widened.

Dennet’s horses had finally arrived.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a little longer than expected. Lots of research for it. Hope you enjoy! :D

Despite the significant progress that had been made towards the renovations of Skyhold, the workers still had to scramble a little to make appropriate accommodations for Master Dennet and his small herd of newly-arrived horses. The old barn was currently the only place in which they could be shielded from the cold winds of the Frostbacks, and this rough shelter, along with a small, makeshift corral that was fenced off from the remainder of the courtyard, was the best that could be done for the mounts until the stable proper was finished. Already, the workers had begun extending the barn on one side into an aisle of stalls that stretched all the way to the back of the fortress, but it would be at least a week until enough were completed to house each horse.

These were not all of Dennet’s mounts, of course, as Josephine had implied at our little dinner. Only the best, hand-picked by the horsemaster himself for the Inner Circle’s use, had been brought to Skyhold. The rest of the horses in his care had been somewhat evenly distributed amongst the various Inquisition outposts and camps to serve our people in the field in whatever capacity was deemed necessary. But the soldiers and scouts of the Inquisition could hardly complain – even the most average of Dennet’s steeds was of better and hardier stock than most of the horses in Ferelden and quite possibly half of those in Orlais, from what I overheard others say about it. And if the mounts that now called Skyhold home were any indication, it was true – they had held up to their arduous journey through the mountains remarkably well, showing little to no signs of fatigue, their coats and eyes bright, and their ears alert.

It was a day after the select horses arrived at the castle that we received the first word from Maxwell through Josephine; he was still on his way to meet with Hawke’s contact, warning us that travel was taking longer than expected due to Ferelden’s harsh, wet winter weather, and that his return to the Frostbacks might be delayed longer than we had predicted. Though the Inquisitor’s extended stint in the field was a little concerning to the other advisors, it wouldn’t be because we would have our hands tied during that time; there was no shortage of things to do in his absence, especially in regards to preparing our forces for Halamshiral and continuing the rebuilding of the keep.

One of those things was my riding training.

It was strange, really, but I was almost hoping Cullen had forgotten about his rather fortuitous suggestion to teach me to ride. Just the thoughts of it made me terribly nervous, just as it had at Josephine’s dinner, and I wasn’t entirely sure as to the reason why.

Well, no, that wasn’t true. I knew why. It just caused me even greater anxiety to consider it.

The most practical aspect that worried me was injuries. Despite the fact that I always wanted to know how to ride, I couldn’t deny that the process itself was fraught with danger that kept me apprehensive about the whole thing. I really didn’t like the idea of falling off. Especially repeatedly.

Or getting stepped on. Or getting kicked. Or being bitten. Or being thrown off. Or accidentally hurting one of Dennet’s prize horses because of a combination of ineptitude and ignorance.

Then, I had to admit to myself that there was the impractical fear of spending extended time with Cullen. And even though I fully well realized it was impractical, I couldn’t prevent myself from worrying about the impression I was going to give him. Part of me was embarrassed I had to be taught in the first place. Still another part of me was yet guilty for taking precious time away from his already-packed schedule when he could be doing much more important things. If I took too long to learn or become proficient with this new skill, then it really _would_ start to look like it was nothing but a waste of his time…

And then there was the fact that yes, I still had an undiminished crush on him that I was trying desperately to hide, and he made me nervous anyway because of that reason alone.

Thus, I spent most of the morning physically tense in anticipation of Cullen’s lessons. He had mentioned seizing the opportunity as soon as Dennet’s mounts arrived, and I knew he was a man of his word – he wouldn’t intentionally go back on a promise. But as the day approached high noon and I had yet to receive word from the Commander, I began to think that he might have forgotten about it after all, and I let myself relax a bit. Perhaps he really was just too busy to work it in to his schedule. It wasn’t an implausible turn of events, considering how things were rapidly developing at the castle…

But then, right after lunch was served by our new and expanded kitchen staff, Lea handed a message to me, stamped with what was unmistakably Cullen’s seal – the red wax with its upright armored fist.  She stood quietly in my room as I sat on the edge of the bed and broke the seal, unfolding the parchment to read a very short note in the Commander’s neat script:

_Tamsyn,_

_Meet me at the stable yard at your earliest convenience._

_\- C_

I dropped my hands to my thighs. The pit of my stomach fluttered, and I let out a long breath as I refolded the paper and set it aside atop the blanket. So this was it, then. He was probably out there inspecting the horses right now…

Curious, Lea cocked her head at me and squinted, obviously puzzled by my reaction. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” I said quickly, waving away her concern. “Just…something I need to do that I’m a bit nervous about doing. That’s all.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

The question was a bit unexpected. I sighed, considering for a moment. But then, I shook my head.

“I appreciate the offer, but it’s probably best if you don’t,” I ultimately replied with a bit of a grimace. “For my sake and yours, I think.” I huffed and shrugged. “Looks like you’ve got the day to yourself again, Lea.”

She nodded her acceptance with a slight smile. “If you say so, Tamsyn. I suppose I’ll be helping in the kitchens if you need me, then.”

And with that, she ducked out of my room and disappeared, her footsteps silent on the stone beyond as she headed to the main hall. For a moment after she vanished beyond the closing door, I just sat there, gathering my courage. Then, swallowing heavily, I stood and straightened my uniform jacket, secured my hat atop my head, and left my room for the courtyard.

_Time to get this over with._

Once outside, I took in several deep breaths of cool mountain air, expanding my lungs until they stung, and exhaling slowly as I walked in an effort to calm myself. The solid way my heels struck the stones with every stride was oddly comforting.

Everything was going to be just fine. Absolutely, positively, fine.

It was fine.

But my gloved fists balled up at my sides unbidden, and I could hear my mind screaming inside my skull in raw defiance.

 _Oh my_ GOD _it’s_ NOTFINE _!_

I nervously tugged at the fur-lined collar of my jacket with one black-clad finger while traversing the throne room, dodging servants and workers and giving them polite nods and smiles to hide my growing anxiety. It was hot. Far too hot. I was starting to sweat, even as cold as it was, my breath slightly visible in shadows. I was almost hoping the temperature would drop about twenty degrees colder, if only to prevent me from spontaneously combusting once the training started.

As I left the keep proper, head down whilst I navigated the freshly-washed stone steps, I wondered if anyone saw the rosy flush that had surely blossomed on my cheeks by now. But if they did, they politely said nothing to me about it, instead remaining focused on their current tasks while I brushed past them and crossed the courtyard towards the stables.

The interior of the old barn, I noticed, was practically alive with swishing and twitching tails, swinging like a line of calico tassels in the shadows. There, almost completely hidden behind walls of gleaming hide and muscle, Master Dennet and his grooms were busy feeding the hungry mounts, the horses eagerly chewing great wads of golden hay.

And then I saw _him_ , standing in the corral with his glorious steed like a knight from a fairytale, and my jaw hit the ground.

 _Of course_ he had picked the most magnificent horse in the entire bunch – a lovely black gelding with a long, straight profile and large mahogany eyes. An Amaranthine Charger? And there Cullen was to the left of his mount, looking like a right smug bastard as he secured the beast’s tack and gave him heavy, reassuring pats on his thick, arched neck. The horse huffed almost in warning as he saw me approaching, and I paused at the rough fence, leaning one hand on a post while I observed the pair.

“Ah, there you are!” Cullen greeted me without letting his bright amber gaze linger on me long, making last-minute adjustments to the saddle. Unfortunately, the simple riding tack that he had fit his mount with didn’t suit the proud animal at all, and I had a feeling there would be imminent purchases of saddles and bridles more suited for warfare materializing on Josephine’s agenda.

But despite the thin leathers and the almost comically small saddle, the noble air of the gelding could not be diminished. And with his void-black hide juxtaposed to the crimson, gold, and silver of the Commander’s armor, they both looked stunning.

“Yes, here I am,” I replied with a nervous half-smile, unable to stop looking at the gorgeous charger. Like the Herald’s old mount, this particular gelding was quite tall in stature. Muscles rippled under his ebon hide with every shift of his thick limbs, and as my eyes drifted over his marvelously unmarked coat, I saw that his large hooves were crowned with the lightest bit of feathering.

Cullen must have noticed my awestruck expression, as one corner of his mouth turned upwards, and he added, “This is Dane, the newest recruit to the Inquisition army. Master Dennet told me he specifically chose Dane to bring to me, insisting he be the one to serve the Commander of our forces. And I must say,” he paused as he stepped back and looked Dane up and down, “he certainly looks the part.”

“He’s a handsome beast, for sure,” I breathed.

 _And so is Cullen_ , my brain dared to add.

The Commander chuckled. “That he is. But more importantly, he’s been trained as a warhorse. Dennet assures me Dane is highly intelligent, obedient to commands, isn’t flighty, and doesn’t possess an otherwise ill temperament.” He leaned against the saddle as he faced me fully. “That makes him perfect for my needs…and as of now, yours.” Cullen cocked his head, paused, and furrowed his brow at me. “Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”

_Shit…_

“Oh, I am?” I laughed a little, trying my best to sound surprised as my fingers clenched around the fence’s topmost board. “Well, I _am_ a little hot in this uniform…” At least that part wasn’t a lie.

“You won’t be out there,” Cullen replied, jerking his head towards the gatehouse, and it was then I realized he was intending to take me outside the walls for this session. I noticed his helm had been lashed to his right hip, and he reached to untie it, gesturing for me to come into the corral proper. “Best to get this done quickly.”

I gulped as I entered the open fence gate, my boots rustling in the dry grass.

“So, do I pick a horse too, or…?” I trailed, glancing off at the other mounts in the barn. Seeing as there was only one horse prepared, I was unsure as to what his plan was and what I needed to do…

“Not yet,” Cullen said, shaking his head as he settled the helm and buckled it under his jaw. His voice was muffled only slightly as he continued. “Next time, perhaps. I thought you might need to learn the _very_ basics without the pressure of having to deal with keeping your mount under control at the same time. Thus, you’ll be with Dane and me until you feel confident enough to try with your own horse.”

I swallowed. He was going to train me on his warhorse. Well, that would make any smaller steed seem completely manageable, by comparison…

Cullen glanced back at the barn, and then added, “I’m not accustomed to training riders, by any means, and we probably need a rope to do this properly, but we don’t have anything suitable that isn’t already tied up elsewhere.” He shrugged, his spaulders glimmering in the sun. “I suppose we’ll just have to improvise. Starting now.” He beckoned me again with one gloved hand, turning a stirrup outwards while Dane watched me with an appraising mahogany eye.

I tentatively approached, feeling miniscule next to Dane as Cullen held the great horse steady. “Put your left foot in the stirrup, there, grab hold of his mane, and I’ll help boost you up. Swing your right foot over his back with the momentum I give you, all right?”

“Okay,” I breathed with a nod, setting my foot in the stirrup. It was basically level with my armpit, and so my leg was raised at a painfully awkward angle. I gripped a handful of Dane’s coarse black mane, swallowing back the nervousness fluttering wildly in my stomach now.

“ _Steady_ ,” Cullen commanded Dane, before moving closer to me. “Spring up with your right foot on three. One…two… _three_.”

My mounting Dane was absolutely graceless. On three, I bounced upwards on the ball of my right foot and felt myself abruptly thrown upwards by my heel. It took all of my strength not to overbalance and go sailing right over Dane’s other side and into the dirt. I hit a little heavily in the saddle as I fell into place, and the great gelding huffed beneath me, shifting his weight a little, but otherwise remaining still.

“Sorry,” I quietly apologized to the horse, hesitating before leaning forward and patting him gently on the neck for putting up with my awkwardness. I wondered if he could feel my anxiousness.

The gelding’s back was so wide, my legs were stretched rather awkwardly, and I was far too short for the stirrups’ current length. I had a sinking feeling I was going to be terribly sore by the end of this session, even though I remembered that I hadn’t been that way after riding with the Herald in the Hinterlands. But, then again, I had already been battered and bruised from my fall into the Fade, so it was unlikely I was able to tell the difference at the time.

As I looked past the muscled arch of Dane’s ebon neck towards the ground, I felt my stomach suddenly lurch as though I were about to fall. It was an astonishingly long way down.

“Not bad,” Cullen commented reassuringly. “Move up a bit if you can, so I can join you. Keep holding on.”

I gulped again. _Ohhhh, shit…_

“All right,” I almost squeaked, obediently scooting a bit closer to the front crest of the saddle to make room for Cullen. There was a brief moment while he readjusted the one stirrup’s length, but then, rather suddenly, I was forced to tighten my grip on Dane’s mane as the saddle listed a bit sideways with the Commander’s weight, and he swung into the seat behind me.

Right behind me. As in, so close behind me I was practically sitting in his lap.

Cullen’s thighs were molded to the backs of my legs, and I could feel his breastplate pressing into my shoulder blades as he adjusted his seat and settled his feet into the stirrup irons.  I fought to keep a straight face as grooms and messengers passed us by in the corral, occasionally casting curious glances our way. The brief thought crossed my mind that Dorian or even Leliana could be watching us, and my stomach flopped. All the while, my insides were about to melt down from my nervous excitement and my brain felt as though it was going to explode any minute from the inability to come to grips with the current situation…

“Relax,” Cullen said quietly, suddenly tapping my hip to catch my attention and very nearly making me jump out of my skin. “I’ve got you. I’m not going to let you fall.”

It was then I realized I was stiff as a board, and my legs were clenching onto the saddle so tightly they already ached from calf to thigh. I tried to slacken my muscles and just concentrate on balancing my weight behind Dane’s shoulders, but that was made increasingly difficult by the sudden presence of Cullen’s right hand sliding in front of me to help hold me in place, leather-clad fingers skirting atop the burgundy sash and gripping the sword belt that encircled my waist. His left hand held the reins aloft in front of his right.

I was barely able to register the fact he was still talking.

“…can’t take any more expansion of our forces, so the keep barracks will have to serve the soldiers manning the walls. Everyone else will need a larger encampment to accommodate them, and I think I know just the place, but I want to have a look at it myself. This is a way for me to accomplish two objectives at once.”

I then felt the slightest flexion in Cullen’s legs, and Dane began moving in a slow, easy walk, plodding through the grass of the corral towards the gate. After only a few strides, though, Cullen flexed against the saddle again, and Dane’s pace became a little more brisk, the horse snorting almost eagerly at the urge for greater speed.

The steady creak of leather accompanied the rhythmic _thud_ of the gelding’s hoofbeats as the gait naturally lurched and rocked beneath us. That _thud_ quickly became loud _clops_ as Dane’s hooves struck stone at last, and I watched Cullen’s rein hand drift leftwards as he turned the horse’s head towards the gatehouse. All the while, Cullen’s grip on my belt kept me steady, even as one of my own hands clutched the saddle while the other yet held a tuft of Dane’s mane. A few people looked up with curious expressions as they parted for us, and a soldier or two gave a bark of “ser!” as acknowledgment. But once we rode through the inner gatehouse and began heading across the castle bridge, we were free of any and all obvious spectators at last.

Halfway across the bridge, I closed my eyes, honestly trying my best to relax as the colder air outside the fortress began seeping through my jacket in a soothing chill. I lost myself in the steady _clop_ of hooves and the listing sway from side to side, side to side. Cullen was silent behind me, but even as anxious as I was about our close proximity, his solid presence was also something of a comfort.

Interestingly enough, when we finally crossed the bridge and began our steep descent into the snow-blanketed valley, where not even the incessant sounds of Skyhold were audible at this distance, it was Cullen who ultimately released a slow breath of relief. The cold wasn’t the only thing surprisingly soothing about the air outside; the blanket of quiet beyond the fortress was like a balm to frazzled nerves, and I realized that Cullen’s withdrawals must have made it difficult to tolerate the constant chaos and noise of the castle.

“Feel better out here, Commander?” I asked, breaking the silence between us.

“Hm?” was his immediate answer, a mixture of distraction and puzzlement. “Oh…well, I suppose…”

“I mean, it’s getting a little messy in the castle, I know,” I clarified. “Hard on the nerves.”

“That’s…one way of putting it.”

I nodded. “Maybe this will be good for you _and_ me, then.”

A soft _hmph_ followed. “Perhaps it will.”

Silence again. As we continued riding into the open valley by following the slopes, Dane’s midnight coat stark against the blinding snow, I thought maybe there was more than just one reason for us going out here besides the need to inspect the area. Maybe Cullen really needed some time away from the castle to recuperate a bit. If he was an introverted person, as I suspected he was, then the constant presence of large groups of people was probably almost as draining to him as his withdrawals.

I just hoped I wasn’t going to add to his misery.

“This does look like a good spot for an army camp,” he finally mused aloud, more to himself than to me. “The ground is level, there is a clean water source nearby if we punch through the ice there…no trees to rid the area of before we start pitching tents. It’s even between those watchtowers.” He eased Dane to a halt, falling silent as he glanced around the wide basin between the mountains that cradled Skyhold. All the while, I felt a tad bit suspicious; he could just as easily have confirmed all that by looking and taking notes from the battlements…

But, then again, I wasn’t in charge of a growing military force, nor was I in any way a tactician, so I kept my thoughts on the matter to myself.

“I’ll talk to Josephine about materials when we get back to Skyhold,” he said at last, a little louder this time. “For now, your lessons.” He lifted his rein hand, “Take these like this…”

And before I could even register his words, he slipped the reins into my left hand, curled my fingers around them, and then held my hand with his own in proper position. “Now watch. When you want to turn, just move the reins gently from one side to the other. If you want to go left,” he moved our hands left, “move them left until the right rein touches his neck.” I watched, almost entranced as Dane responded the moment the leather brushed his hide on the right side of his neck, and he started turning in place, ultimately reversing the direction we were facing. Even before Dane had finished, I noticed Cullen was already returning our hands back to center. “If you want to go right, do the same, just in the opposite direction…” he moved the reins right until the left side reins lay against the horse’s neck and Dane turned back to our previous position.

“You try.”

Cullen’s hand fell from mine, and there I was, holding the reins on my own.

“Okay,” I breathed, biting my lip as I repeated the motion to the left. My heart skipped a beat as Dane obediently turned left again, snorting and bobbing his head a little as I stopped him.

“Don’t be nervous,” Cullen said reassuringly. “He can feel it in your hand. You’re fine, he’s fine…you’re not in any danger. Try again.”

I nodded, swallowing my nerves and going back to the right. We repeated this twice more, and I feared we were testing Dane’s patience, but the horse never once objected.

“This is…not bad,” I said with an anxious laugh, unable to keep from smiling despite the lingering panic I was desperately trying to quell.

“You’re doing well,” Cullen commented. “Now, let’s add some speed to it.”

He shifted almost imperceptibly behind me, and Dane began to walk once more, progressing at the easy pace I had gotten accustomed to during our ride here. Cullen made no move to take the reins back from me, and I felt a little vulnerable.

“So, uh…what now?”

“Try turning him in a circle, the same as before.”

“Okay…”

I repeated the motions from earlier, noting that the length of time the reins touched Dane’s neck determined how long he continued the directional movement.

After a few repetitions of Dane plodding through the snow, Cullen continued, “Good. Now bring him to a halt. Hand centered, pull back firmly, but not too hard, until he obeys. Stop pulling when he stops.”

I did as directed, carefully increasing the pressure until Dane slowed and stopped, and as soon as he came to a halt, I released the tension on the reins.

“Well done,” Cullen remarked. “It’s good you’re being gentle while handling him. I don’t think Dane here is too terribly sensitive, but some horses are more than others. You don’t want to be rough with any of them, but especially not those with touchy mouths.”

Then, suddenly, I felt him swinging himself out of the saddle, and before I knew it, I was alone on top of Dane with Cullen on the ground, looking up at me between the jaws of his lion helm. Despite the fact the lower jaw obscured his mouth, I could have sworn the Commander was smirking.

“Wait,” I protested, eyes wide, “what are you-”

“You’re progressing quickly,” he said, hands adjusting the stirrups in the leathers as he ran them upwards. “So it’s time for you to try riding on your own. Settle yourself in the seat properly so I can fit these to you.”

 _Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out_ , was the mantra I repeated in my head as I slid backwards to sit in the space Cullen had just been occupying.

It was hard not to freak out, though. Dane was big. And strong. And this was made even more obvious without Cullen’s weight behind me keeping the animal in control. I probably felt like a fly in comparison. He could take off with me, and I would have no way of stopping him…

But he didn’t. Instead, he lowered his head to sniff at a little frond of greenery poking through the snow while Cullen adjusted the stirrups and settled my feet into them. I felt myself slipping forward a bit, and a brief moment of panic seized me as I thought I might go tumbling right over Dane’s head…

“There,” Cullen said at last, now on my right, and Dane thankfully straightened back up. “Now repeat what we just did, so I know you have it. Keep your back straight and settle into the saddle.”

I followed his instruction as best as I could, slowly turning Dane around in a circle first one way, and then the other. All the while, Cullen kept adjusting my posture: “Keep your feet forward and your heels down for balance;” “Back a little straighter;” “Feet forward, Tamsyn, they’re pointing out.”

Then, satisfied Dane was going to be obedient to my commands, he said, “All right, try asking him to walk yourself.”

“And how do I do that?” I queried, raising a brow at him. I wasn’t entirely sure how Cullen had done it before. It felt like he had flexed his legs or something. He hadn’t made any noise, just that motion, and I wasn’t sure I could replicate it accurately.

“Your calves,” he said, lifting his leg and tapping the inside of his boot to illustrate. “Just squeeze a little.”

“Oh.”

I tried. Dane remained motionless.

“A little harder.”

I tried again. And Dane stayed right where he was.

“Oh come on,” I groaned quietly. “Don’t do this to me now.”

Dane snorted.

“Your height is the issue here, I think,” Cullen said at length, “Try moving your legs a little backwards. And shift your weight forwards in the saddle.”

That did it. Dane suddenly surged forward again.

“Turn him back towards me,” Cullen said as the gelding moved away. “Stay relaxed and don’t slouch. Keep your eyes on me.”

It was a struggle not to be a little overwhelmed. I breathed out and concentrated hard on keeping good posture, as I knew that would also make sure that Dane was comfortable underneath me. I turned him slowly around, slightly in awe that I had any control over this warhorse by myself. Cullen immediately launched into our new exercise – making me keep him like a target between Dane’s ears as he moved around the area, sometimes walking straight backwards, other times moving behind us or beside us to force me to turn Dane in one direction or another. It was rather astonishing, but as Dane remained obedient and quiet, I became more and more relaxed, and soon, it was no effort at all to direct the great horse wherever I wanted him to go.

At last, Cullen finally let me stop. I pulled Dane to a halt and released my hold on the reins to give the horse generous pats, all the while praising him for being so calm and patient. “Who’s a good boy, hmmm? Who’s the best boy in the world?” I said as I vigorously scratched the ebon arch of his neck, Dane’s only response being a couple of large huffs and a curious look backwards with one soft eye. He seemed almost bashful with that look.

Cullen’s subsequent hearty chuckle warmed me even more than his horse’s expression as he approached. “I think it’s time we returned to Skyhold for the day, Tamsyn. Ride us back?” he suggested.

“Ohh, _no_ ,” I said, shaking my head as I felt the ache that throbbed deep in my thighs. “I’ve got to find my ground legs again before I embarrass myself in front of all our people.”

His chuckled turned into an outright laugh. “Very well. Do you need help getting down?”

“Probably.”

He moved around to Dane’s left, steadying the horse as I attempted to lift my right leg back over the rear of the saddle.

“Oh, _God!_ ” I hissed in pain as I moved, my leg muscles protesting mightily, “ _Holy_ …”

My calves failed as my right leg dropped, grazing Dane’s flank, and I felt Cullen rush forward to catch me around the waist as I fell the rest of the way, my left foot slipping out of the stirrup on the way and sinking into the snow like a stone. I struggled to get both feet under me, leaning on Dane’s saddle even as Cullen worked to keep me upright.

“Are you all right?”

“I…I think so,” I hissed again as I turned around and Cullen released me. He backed up a step as I bent and rubbed at my thighs, feeling as though my hips had been dislocated and my knees were two miles apart. “God…this is going to be a bitch tomorrow…”

“You’ll need to stretch and take some elfroot when we get back to the castle,” Cullen said. Then, glancing back to where Dane stood, he asked. “Are you sure about walking?”

“Yeah, sure,” I confirmed with a nod, following the long path back to the castle with my eyes. “It’ll probably do me some good.”

“As you wish.”

With that, he fixed the stirrups again, mounted Dane, and off we went, walking back to Skyhold. The brisk pace I had to keep up to stay even with the horse forced my joints to start working properly again;  I felt as though I had a permanent bowlegged swagger for the first few minutes, but then everything seemed to relax a bit, and by the time we reached the bridge, it was almost back to normal. All the while, I watched Cullen atop Dane and smiled to myself. They were a magnificent pair, inspiring to see, and no doubt the troops would think so, too…

Traffic had increased around the castle, and it was easy to blend in with the wagons and merchants crossing the bridge with us. Once we were beyond the inner gatehouse again, the noise of the castle muffling the sound of Dane’s heavy hooves, Rylen neared and hailed his Commander, and I took the opportunity to slip away, heading back towards the keep while they went on to the stables.

As I climbed the keep stairs, wincing with each step, I felt immensely proud of myself, and for some reason, I couldn’t stop smiling.

\------------------------------------------------------

That evening, after stretches, another warm bath, and an elfroot potion, I sat on the cold stone of the battlements, my legs dangling over the courtyard-side edge as I watched the people of Skyhold bustling around below. Cullen’s watch guards occasionally passed me by, but they said nothing to me when they did, instead quietly keeping their eyes on the mountains as they patrolled the walls. They would be bringing out the torches, soon, the sun well on its way to sinking behind the tall peaks of the Frostbacks. The moons were already coming out in the clear air above, both slim crescents, and the sky around them was a muted mauve, tinted orange closer to the sun.

As it so happened, it was Satinalia week. Lea had informed me of this when I first got back from Cullen’s riding lessons, mentioning special meals planned for the next few days, the preparation of which she had assisted with while I was gone. Though there was little time to spare and barely any financial means to celebrate what I gathered was a rather major Thedosian holiday, the Inquisition was apparently committed to doing as much as they could to maintain some semblance of normalcy...both for their own sakes and to show defiance in the face of Corypheus.

Instead of the usual ram for supper, our hunters had managed to bring back several wild boar, and this new meat, along with the wagonloads of fresh produce that had been trickling in little by little over the past few days, comprised the heart of a modest feast. Fresh loaves of white bread and wheels of Fereldan cheese were added to the side, and to drink, we all partook of half-mugs of the first shipment of ale to arrive within Skyhold’s walls.

This simple change in diet was enough to lift spirits immensely, including my own, and it also served as a sign that the Inquisition was thriving in spite of the forces set against it. Considering the short amount of time we had been here, the overall disposition of the Inquisition had shifted rapidly since we arrived – from one of near despondency to that of rebellious determination. The new holiday menu was just the latest in a recent chain of events that helped our steadily growing numbers of staff, soldiers, and other contributing members keep putting one foot in front of the other.

But though I shared in the people’s delight that things were starting to look up once more, the celebratory atmosphere surrounding Satinalia was bittersweet for me.

As I understood it, Satinalia was a lot like Christmas for the more pious Andrastians, having that same spirit of joy in the act of giving to another. Regardless of one’s level of piety, everyone partook in the festivities in some form or fashion, whether it was to merely share food and drink and companionship or to participate in the exchanging of simple gifts. The merchants who had set up their stalls in the courtyard had been busy all day hawking their wares, promising lower prices than anywhere else in the region, which had been marked down even lower for the special occasion. I wasn’t entirely certain about the truth of these claims, but it seemed to work, as many of the sellers ran out of stock before the sun began disappearing behind the mountains.

As I watched the events surrounding Satinalia unfold in the courtyard below, my heart twisted painfully in my chest as I realized I would never be able to celebrate Christmas – or any of the holidays from Earth – with anyone ever again. There would be no singing carols, or reading Christmas stories, or hearing the classic songs on the radio…no more decorating the Christmas tree or hanging stockings or drinking hot cocoa with friends and relatives…

“Hey there, Tamsyn. What’s going on?”

Bull’s voice suddenly broke me out of my thoughts, and I glanced up to see his large frame easing down onto the walk beside me, his legs hanging off the edge just like mine. Even sitting down, I barely reached his shoulder.

“Oh,” I said quietly, blinking away the emotion that had welled in my eyes and glancing back down at the courtyard. “Nothing…just watching everyone do their thing, I guess. Trying to stay out of the way, as usual.”

“Are you doing all right?” he asked, cocking his head at me curiously. “You look like something’s weighing you down.”

He knew the answer already. He was good enough at reading body language to know I wasn’t all right at all, and there was no use in trying to hide it from the acutely aware Ben-Hassrath.

I sighed, picking at the fingertips of my gloves. “Satinalia’s just stomping on my heart, a little, Bull. That’s all.”

His expression turned solemn. “Got you missing home, huh? Bringing back old memories?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Mm_ ,” he grunted in understanding. “I get it. Hard to feel happy about anything when all it reminds you of is what you left behind.” He was silent for a few moments, his one eye passing over the crowd, and then added gently, “You want to talk about it?”

“Are you sure you’d be interested?” I asked after a breath.

He smiled wryly. “Of course I’m interested. Why wouldn’t I be? Just because it’s something I’m completely unfamiliar with doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about it,” he said. “I’m actually rather curious. Is all this really something like what you used to participate in, or is it just the atmosphere, or…?” he trailed, gesturing at the people.

“Yeah, actually, a little of both,” I said with a nod, sighing again as I thought of how best to explain. “We used to have a religious holiday every year like this. I’ll spare you the story about the reason why…it’s a long one. Unless you _really_ want to hear it,” I amended. “But suffice it to say, there were a lot of the same elements. Celebration of life, gift giving, charity, feasting. We’d spend months getting ready for it, decorating our homes and workplaces. Lots of shopping and traveling. A lot of people who worked far away from their original homes would go back and spend time with family members. Extended families would sometimes get together almost in their entirety. Households full of cousins and nephews and nieces and aunts and uncles and grandparents…”

He nodded slowly. “A time of fellowship with kin, then.”

“ _Mhhmm_ ,” I agreed. “And if someone couldn’t travel or didn’t have immediate family to go home to, some people would celebrate with friends and roommates.”

“And here you are with no family to celebrate with,” Bull elaborated. “And no one else who understands your holiday the same way you do. This is close, but it isn’t it. On the other hand, you may have an idea of how Satinalia goes here, but you’re a stranger to almost everyone.” He let out a long breath. “You’re missing the fellowship you had before. Despite everyone else feeling all warm and fuzzy, you feel like the outcast because you can’t share what you used to share, and you don’t quite fit in to what we have here, yet.”

“That…yeah,” I said, a bit astonished at how accurately he summed it all up.

Silence. I looked down at my hands in my lap, the black leather almost lost in the deepening shadows, now, and Bull seemed lost in thought for the longest time. Then, at last, he spoke again.

“You mentioned food being a part of your old celebrations. Anything in particular?”

I blinked. “Oh, well, yes. It was often really cold that time of year, so we’d have warm things to eat and drink, like hot cocoa-”

“ _Cocoa!?_ ” Bull’s one eye widened in the dark as he did a double-take. “Wait, that beverage you make from the same beans Orlesians make chocolates from? Rich, kinda on the sweet side?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, smiling broadly as I realized he knew exactly what I was talking about.

“And you put those little _guimauves_ in it…?”

“Gui- _what_?” That one threw me. It sounded French. _Orlesian_. But I couldn’t quite place the meaning.

“You know, those little white squishy things,” he explained, complete with finger-and-thumb movement for emphasis.

“Oh, _marshmallows_!” I smacked my hand to my forehead as I realized what he meant.

“Yeah, whatever you wanna call them,” he said, shaking his horned head as if that was beside the point. “You get what I mean though? Same stuff right?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

He grinned, his eye twinkling in the torchlight of a passing patrol. “I _love_ that stuff. I could drink it _every_ … _single_ … _day_. And never get tired of it. Bad thing about it, though,” he grumbled, “is it’s not a commodity around here. But tell you what,” he nudged me in the ribs. “How about I put in a request for it with Josephine? You know _somebody_ has got to be able to get their hands on it.”

My brows rose. “Isn’t that kind of a waste of Inquisition resources?” I asked, but almost immediately realized who I was directing the question to. This was, after all, the one who would suggest borrowing the trebuchets for Adamant in order to test the flyability of Krem’s stuffed winged nugs…

“Nah,” he said, swatting the air. “If it helps you feel more at home, then it’s for your self-care, and you’re entitled to that as much as anybody around here is. Besides,” he winked, “you’ll be sharing it with me, and requisitioned supplies for _two_ Inquisition members look much better on paper than just for one, am I right?”

I laughed and shook my head. “If you say so, Bull.”

“I do. And you know what? I bet a lot of our little Inner Circle here hasn’t even tasted it before. We gotta get them all to try it. And you know what that means, don’t you?”

“What?”

He smiled. “You get that fellowship you’re missing out on.”

I stared at him, slightly open-mouthed as I figured out where he’d been going with this the whole time. As soon as he had pinpointed the problem, he had worked the conversation towards finding a solution. Even if they didn’t feel the same way under the Qun, he knew people in general used food as a way to get people together. And not only had he managed to successfully hit on a food that he knew about, he knew how to use it to arrange a gathering of friends and comrades, to enjoy something I used to enjoy.

I had to fight to keep tears from welling in my eyes again.

“Thanks, Bull.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who is far more experienced with/knowledgeable about riding horses, I do apologize if I got anything wrong. I tried to do as much research as possible on the subject, so if there are mistakes or if there's anything terribly inaccurate...I tried, honest!


	32. Chapter 32

“Tamsyn… _Tamsyn_!”

Lea’s voice broke through the foggy haze of sleep that had wrapped itself around my brain like a warm, fuzzy blanket. I groaned, but it was such a distant sound, it was as if it came from another person entirely.

“I know you’re exhausted, Lady Tamsyn, but it’s late!”

I groaned again, trying to roll over on my side and away from the pointy finger prodding insistently at my shoulder. My legs protested mightily, my thighs almost burning they ached so badly. My knees and hips were so stiff I could barely move them.

Lea loudly huffed her irritation at my defiance. “Tamsyn, _please_ …you’ve got a war meeting in an hour and your breakfast is getting cold!”

At that, I finally managed to muster enough strength to forcefully peel my eyelids open, rolling on my back again and blinking to see my handmaid leaning over me with her hands on her hips. As I at last threw off the dark shroud of sleep with which I was so loathe to part, a triumphant smirk pulled at her lips.

“Was it the mention of the meeting or the food that did it?”

“Both.”

Still with great reluctance, I sat up, straightening my nightgown, and Lea retrieved the breakfast tray, setting it between us as she perched on the edge of the bed. It had become part of our morning routine ever since we had moved on from spit cooking in the courtyard and the kitchens had begun providing regular meals; Lea rose from the servants’ quarters very early, and she would fetch enough food for the both of us and arrive with it at my room by the time I woke up. We would then share the meal, during which she would inform me about the daily plans for Skyhold’s staff and whether or not she might be needed to assist them in some form or fashion.

Every day thus far, I simply let her spend her time as she pleased, and most often, she chose to help out in the kitchens with food preparation. I decided long ago that I wasn’t going to be the type to have someone else brushing my hair, dressing me, cleaning up after my messes all the time, or following me around everywhere on the off-chance I needed an extra pair of hands. At least, not if I could help it.

This morning, breakfast consisted of freshly-baked dark bread and Fereldan jam, the latter of which had just arrived the day before from the Hinterlands. It was a simple meal, and likely offensive (or at the very least bland) to sensitive noble palates, but it was just fine to me.

I had just finished slathering a thin layer of blackberry jam on a small piece of bread when we heard the scream.

It was distant, and muffled by the thick layers of stone between us and the source, but there was still no denying that it was one of pure, unadulterated terror. And even before it was abruptly cut off, my stomach plummeted to my feet.

I shared one wide-eyed look with Lea, and our food dropped from our hands onto the tray as we scrambled from the bed and rushed from the room. Lea was first out of the door, as my legs simply refused to move as quickly as I wanted them to. We dashed along the walkway, with me still barefoot, and burst into the main keep, throwing our hands out against the bannister to stop our momentum as we looked down into the hall.

“Oh, _God_!”

Even though Cullen’s keep guards were already pushing gawkers out of the throne room, they couldn’t keep those of us on the upper levels from seeing the sad sight below.

One of the laborers, who had apparently been finishing work on the roof, had either overbalanced or slipped and had fallen from the top of the scaffolding, landing on the unforgiving stone in the middle of the hall below. The result was exactly what one would expect. I covered my mouth even as the Chantry sisters rushed forward and covered the poor man’s body with their own, the guards forming a line near the entrance to hide the view from lingering bystanders and to bar further entry into the throne room until the situation was taken care of.

“Oh, _Maker_ ,” Lea echoed behind her hands, shaking her head as she squeezed her eyes shut. “I _knew_ something bad like this was going to happen! I just knew it!”

I was silent, but I felt the same. Restoration work on the castle was dangerous, especially the highest points, and though the carpenters and masons fully well knew it just as much as we did, it still had to be done. After a few moments, knowing there was nothing we could do, I sighed and put my hand on her shoulder. “Come on…let’s let the others handle it from here. At this point, we can only hope and pray it was quick.”

She nodded, and we both began heading back to my room, saying nothing else to each other and moving much more slowly than we had before. I had completely lost my appetite, and though I finished my bread and jam to keep from wasting it, it was dry and tasteless in my mouth.

\------------------------------------------------------

Due to the events surrounding the poor laborer’s fatal fall, the war council meeting was ultimately delayed by two hours, until after a lunch I didn’t take. It was fine by me. I was still suffering from the riding lessons the day before (though a second elfroot potion did much to take the edge off the pain), and the man’s death had just made my resulting bad mood even worse. For much of my spare time before the rescheduled meeting, then, I stood on the walk outside my room, watching the now-somber workers cleaning up the final bits of brush from the newly-cleared garden and breathing in deep lungfuls of mountain air to similarly clear my head.

At last, though, the meeting could be put off no longer. Lea, who had departed to console some of the staff who had been closer to the deceased than she, came by to remind me of it a few minutes beforehand.

“It looks like the other advisors are ready to convene in the War Room, Tamsyn,” she said, pulling her hands behind her back. “The Ambassador has been quite busy since the…incident. But she said to go ahead and tell you the meeting is to be held anyway. The way is clear.”

I nodded my acceptance, straightening my jacket. “Right. I’ll be on my way, then. You’re heading to the kitchens for more Satinalia feast prep?”

She sighed. “Yes. Cook’s idea was to turn some of the boar into little meat pies this time, so she needs a lot of hands for the pastry.” She shook her head sadly, “I can’t say as I’m feeling very celebratory anymore, though.”

“Neither am I.”

We walked in silence towards the door to the stairwell, parting ways when we reached the first floor of the main hall; she crossed the way to head to the kitchens, while I turned and made for the Ambassador’s office. All the while I thought how sad it was that we had lost someone during a holiday week, of all things. And yet life went ever onwards, most people resuming their activities as usual despite the fact that someone had just died. After all, there was still food to share and gifts to give, all between work hours.

Unlike Christmas, it seemed many Andrastians spent the entire week celebrating in small ways, rather than having one large event on one day. As my thoughts wandered to the gift exchanges I had witnessed thus far, both yesterday and today, I briefly wondered about my personal finances and how I could make my own purchases while working with the Inquisition.

It was then I stopped I my tracks, my hand on the handle of Josephine’s office door as something suddenly occurred to me.

_I need to buy Satinalia gifts._

If I was Thedosian now, as I had told Cullen once, then I needed to act like it. All the way down to participating in holidays. Of course it was incredibly kind of Bull to accommodate me with the cocoa and all, and I greatly appreciated his gesture. But it was a raw truth that I needed to become accustomed to Thedosian ways and participate in Thedosian events. And to do that, I needed to just…jump right in.

Shaking my head back and forth to clear it, I pulled the door open.

_After the meeting…_

When I finally entered the Ambassador’s office proper, I noticed both she and Leliana were already there – the former at her desk and the latter hovering nearby – but Cullen was not. I felt my brow furrow a little. It wasn’t like him to be absent from meetings, and I couldn’t help but worry a little as I approached Josie’s desk.

“Ah, there you are, Tamsyn,” the Ambassador said as she rose, gathering her tablet and papers together with the crinkle and rustle of parchment. She must have seen the concern on my face, as she added, “Cullen told us via courier to go on ahead without him. He is running late, unfortunately.”

“Something about ‘bickering recruits’,” Leliana added with a small smile, her own reports in hand. “You could practically hear the growl in his note. Sometimes I think he wonders if he hasn’t become a parental figure to his troops instead of their commander.”

My worry banished, I couldn’t help but laugh aloud at the Nightingale’s words, having no doubt they were true. Turning and following the two women down the hall towards the War Room, I asked them, “So…what’s this all about, then? The meeting, I mean. Has something arisen?”

“Oh, no. It is simply an update on our efforts, of sorts,” Josephine explained, glancing back at me over her shoulder. The sunlight nearly blinded me when it struck the bright gold satin of her blouse as we passed the crumbling gap in the wall. “There has been so much going on both here at Skyhold and beyond the Frostbacks, I felt we could all use an official meeting to catch up with each other on our latest findings. For my part, at least, there are quite a few issues that will most likely require the Inquisitor’s attention in order to resolve properly. Nevertheless, we should discuss our options and opportunities before he returns, so that we may be ready to offer him the quickest and most efficient solutions.”

“Speaking of opportunities,” Leliana continued as she opened the War Room door and held it for Josephine and me, “I have taken the liberty of arranging a little outing to Val Royeaux in the near future. For just me, Josie, and you, Tamsyn.”

My brows hit my hairline as I paused. “Wait, you did?”

_Why does this feel like trouble?_

Her smile widened, and it was not reassuring in the least. “I did. We have a small window of time to acquire our formal attire for the Empress’s Grand Masquerade, and we need to take care of it before something else prevents us from doing so. While we are there, we can also use this trip to secure more materials for the castle, among other things.”

“And why just us three?” I asked curiously, approaching the table as the other two women took their usual positions across from me. “I mean, why not the Inquisitor, too? And the Commander?”

Josephine chuckled. “Think of it as a ‘ladies’ only’ affair. A chance for us to bond over good food and new experiences. Or, in our case, reliving old ones.”

“Indeed,” Leliana agreed with a knowing nod in the Ambassador’s direction. “Josephine and I have not been to the city together for ages, and you have yet to see it yourself. We could show you around and share our favorite places while we also accomplish work for the Inquisition.”

“Unless, of course, it is something you feel strongly opposed to,” Josephine added with a respectful dip of her head. “But I highly recommend at least one visit to Val Royeaux, if only for the experience.”

I had to admit, it _did_ seem appealing, even if Orlesian culture as a whole sometimes gave me the creeps. And having a chance to become better friends with Josie and Leliana was appreciated. After a few moments, I gave a resigned shrug. “Well…I don’t really have anything else I should be doing instead. And I’m sure Cullen and the Inquisitor can hold the fortress without us, right?”

“They’ll have to,” the Nightingale replied with a small laugh. “We cannot wait long enough for the Inquisitor to return, especially in light of recent delays. Besides, we should only be gone for roughly two weeks. A week there, a few days in the city, and a week back.”

“By the way, I’ve already sent the request for the carriage,” Josephine said. “It will be here next week.”

“Good.”

At that, the War Room door abruptly creaked open, and Cullen entered at last, a storm of silver and crimson as he marched into the room with lengthy strides. A deep scowl was yet etched onto his chiseled features, and I felt my brows rising at the sight. Something really had annoyed him. But then, he sighed heavily, and his irritable expression seemed to melt away with his breath. He shook his head slowly as he drew up beside me, not bothering to assume his usual station between Josie and Leliana.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” he said, running one hand through his hair while the other unceremoniously tossed his reports onto the table with a quiet _smack_. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another…”

“Are the soldiers dissatisfied with something?” Josephine inquired with her tablet held aloft, her brows knitted in concern. No doubt she wondered if it was a problem she could solve with a quick signature and a raven.

His lips pressed together as he frowned. “Only the fact that they are crammed into the tower we’re currently utilizing as a barracks and are quickly growing hostile with each other due to the lack of personal space. Bunks are being constructed as fast as we can obtain materials to do so,” he explained, “but there aren’t yet enough to transfer men to the keep proper, and the situation is deteriorating by the day.”

“Perhaps the situation will resolve itself soon,” Josephine replied reassuringly. “I already sent out an inquiry about the materials you need for your encampment. You should receive word in the next day or so.”

He nodded. “Thank you. In the meantime, I suppose I’ll just have to send out half the barracks on patrols in the field until we can fully house the castle guard in the keep and start the camp in the valley.” He sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “But enough of them. How is the staff faring after the accident this morning?”

“‘Dispirited’ doesn’t quite do it justice, I’m afraid,” was the Ambassador’s quiet answer. “They are shaken, to say the least. The carpenters were well aware of the hazards of the restorations, of course, but even so, they never expected the worst to actually come to pass. Especially not so close to the project’s completion.”

“Mother Giselle will conduct the funeral services tomorrow,” Leliana elaborated. “And as Josephine has already planned, the deceased will be given full honors as a member of the Inquisition, which will be delivered to his family.”

Cullen nodded solemnly in agreement. “He might have wielded a hammer instead of a sword, but he was no less a soldier.”

“Those were my thoughts precisely, Commander,” Josephine replied with a dip of her head. Then, thumbing through and lifting a few pages on her tablet, she continued, “Speaking of soldiers, I happen to have a message from Lady Buttlefort regarding the Trevelyans. Specifically, Lord Albrecht. I do believe you remember him from our prior denouncement of the Inquisitor’s distant relatives, Commander.”

“ _Unfortunately_ ,” was Cullen’s dry response. “What is it, this time?”

The Ambassador huffed out a breath. “Well, despite having been struck over the head with a rolling pin after his previous antics, it seems Lord Albrecht hasn’t ceased his personal vendetta against us. He is now openly antagonizing our couriers if they approach his lands.” She paused, glancing at Leliana, whose expression was unreadable. “Admittedly, his words are mostly bluster at this point, but the Lady Buttlefort fears the situation will escalate into very real actions if we do not do something, and soon.” She let the pages fall back down upon the tablet. “We _could_ try to diffuse the situation diplomatically, but that hinges on Albrecht being willing to listen to us.”

“Or we could simply send our messengers _around_ his lands instead of _through_ them,” Leliana suggested flatly.

“Or we could send armed patrols with your agents instead,” Cullen proposed, crossing his arms atop his breastplate. “He’s only doing this because he hasn’t yet had a visible response. If he is reminded that we take threats to our organization seriously, then perhaps he won’t be so quick to blow hot air in the future.”

“If Lady Tamsyn does not object, however,” Josephine said with a nod of acknowledgement in my direction, “I believe I will ultimately leave this particular item on the agenda for the Inquisitor to handle upon his return. Perhaps he knows the temperament of Lord Albrecht better than we and will also understand how best to approach the matter.” A dip of my head was all the affirmation she needed.

“I will keep our forces in the area on standby, just in case,” Cullen replied, indicating one of his iron markers that was planted firmly near Ostwick on the war table’s map. “Our recruits have been few in the Marches thus far, but our numbers _are_ still growing, if slowly. We’ll have enough men to reinforce the courier routes, if necessary.”

“Also speaking of your forces, Commander,” Leliana interjected, glancing at Josephine. “Didn’t you have something from Sera regarding a new weapon they could use, Josie?”

“Oh, of course!” Josephine searched through the other papers she had brought until she found one small piece of torn parchment, with what appeared to be a large grease stain right in the middle. She grimaced as she saw it, and then she passed it across the table to Cullen. “Here is what she sent to me earlier. It is written in her usual manner, so I will offer a translation: Sera believes your soldiers could use jars of bees as weapons, and she has suggested we find a particular apiary to supply us.”

“A sort of grenade, then,” Leliana explained. “Just as one would use Antivan Fire in a skirmish.”

Cullen’s brow rose skeptically at that, his amber gaze sweeping down the parchment as he took in Sera’s short, scrawled message. “Well…it is rather _unconventional_ but…I can’t say it wouldn’t be an effective method of demoralization. Entire hives have been used in a similar manner before.” After a moment, he shrugged, handing back the note. “I am not opposed to it if the Inquisitor agrees to search for this man she mentions.”

“As you wish,” Josephine acquiesced. “I will be sure to pass word along to the Inquisitor about this opportunity as well, then.” She scribbled a bit on her tablet, and then continued, “There is also one final bit of news I have in regards to bolstering our forces that might pique your interest. Warden Blackwall has approached me and offered something we could use to both our political and military advantage. This will, of course, require the Inquisitor’s approval, but it is something I sincerely believe we should consider.” She glanced to Leliana as she elaborated, “In short, Blackwall has Grey Warden treaties in his possession, and we could use these and his association with the Inquisition to obtain supplies and even soldiers for our cause.”

“This is true,” Leliana added. “The Blight is not so far in the past that the people of Thedas have forgotten it or its devastating effect on Ferelden. The Wardens wield a certain amount of influence during and immediately following Blights, and we could use our connection to Blackwall to gain influence with various nations, especially Ferelden and others who feel similarly indebted to the Wardens for their safety.”

Cullen was silent for a moment, considering. “If it gains us more soldiers and equipment, it is worth pursuing. What do _you_ say to this, Tamsyn?” he finally asked, his hands draping themselves atop his sword.

“It will give us a little edge,” I said vaguely, knowing it would come back to bite the Inquisition later on, but not too badly. “Some people will resent it later, but it can’t be helped,” I added truthfully. “Those supplies and extra forces are important.”

“Very well, I will present the idea for the Inquisitor’s approval on his return,” Josephine said, taking notes. “There is one final thing for my part, but an important one.” She then retrieved another paper from the table, casting her gaze between each of us before focusing on the contents of the parchment she held. “King Alistair has sent a message to the Inquisition. Although he thanks us again for our aid at Redcliffe Castle and offers his condolences to all the victims of the disaster at Haven, it is apparent he takes something of an exception to having an unaligned military presence camped on his border.”

Heavy silence followed, and I could see Leliana taking a breath. Cullen shifted his weight, gripping the pommel of his weapon and replying at last, “That is understandable. But what exactly is His Majesty suggesting be done about it?”

There was a not-so-subtle challenge in the Commander’s tone. My lips pressed together. If this message implied what I feared it did, then it was a little unexpected. I hadn’t anticipated thinly-veiled hostility from Alistair. He was understandably angry about the events at Redcliffe. He had been in the game, after all. But he had actually apologized to the Inquisition afterwards for taking his anger out on them.

This was not an apology letter.

“Fortunately, nothing, at the moment,” Josephine replied. “But he _does_ wish us to know that he has taken note of our activities in his country, as well as who our enemies are.” Her tone was one of utter seriousness, and so her words didn’t make me feel better. “It is a rather delicate situation, and it is only the respect people may yet have for Divine Justinia and her wishes that makes our military movements tolerable. Though the Divine’s orders somewhat transcend national political authority, the fact the Inquisition was formed _after_ her death complicates matters. It is because of this that the Chantry has been able to foster the image that we are heretical opportunists, and despite the recent revelations regarding Corypheus and his intentions, this is still a viewpoint held by many.”

She took a breath, pausing as she put the letter back down. “I am not certain, however, that His Majesty shares in these views. Judging from the manner in which this letter has been penned, it seems as though King Alistair is under political pressure to make an official statement about the Inquisition’s forces continually roaming his kingdom without the sanction of the crown.”

_Oh…_

It wasn’t him. It was…

“The Bannorn,” Leliana said simply. “It is widely known that the noble freeholders wield as much or more power in Ferelden than the king. Despite our being separate from and even denounced by the Chantry, the banns likely see us as inseparable from Orlais as a whole, and thus wielding Orlesian influence over the weak Fereldan populace.”

“Or they are simply using that idea as propaganda against us, regardless of whether or not they actually believe it,” Cullen observed. “There are good people among the Bannorn, but there are also those who cling to power, just like nobility anywhere else in Thedas. Naturally, the corrupt feel threatened by the presence of Inquisition soldiers. They would have much to gain by influencing the King enough for him to consider exiling us from his lands.”

“Something we should avoid at all costs,” Josephine remarked pointedly.

Leliana moved one of her raven markers to Denerim. “We will need to know for certain what is going on, here. Who amongst the Bannorn are convinced that the Inquisition is somehow a threat to Ferelden’s sovereignty, and who might be actively working to see us ousted from the country, whatever their reasoning,” she said. “I will send a few of my agents to investigate.”

“And what of the King himself?” Cullen inquired. “He is only aware of what his courtiers allow him to see and hear. How can we make him aware of the truth, in case our efforts with the Bannorn are not successful?”

There were a few moments of silence as the rest of us considered the Commander’s question. Then, suddenly, an idea popped into my head, and it was just too good to resist.

“Invite him here,” I said, directing it to Josephine.

Her brows rose. “Invite King Alistair to Skyhold?” She repeated. When I merely nodded, she glanced to Leliana and Cullen, both of whom shared uncertain looks.

“What better way to show him what we’re about?” I explained. “Let him see what we do in person. Let him see who we are and how many Fereldans are here, voluntarily…how many of them support us. We can each have a little chat with him about why we send our people into his lands and what exactly we do there.”

“That is…not a bad idea,” Leliana said finally, a small smile pulling at her lips. “I am certain they have heard of the Inquisition’s Prophet as far away as Denerim, so you especially, Tamsyn, might be able to convince him that we pose no threat to Ferelden.”

“ _And_ that we aren’t acting as an extension of Orlesian power,” Cullen added, “despite our interest in the Empress’s safety.”

Josephine resignedly scribbled another note, “Very well. I will extend an invitation to His Majesty. Although, if he accepts, we will have to make _major_ improvements to our décor before he arrives. Skyhold is currently in no shape to host a royal guest, and we cannot give him a poor impression.” After a few moments, she stopped her hasty writing and finally looked up. “That is all I have. Leliana?”

The Nightingale inclined her head to the Ambassador. “Only one thing. I recently received a message from Scout Harding. Apparently, she and her fellow scouts discovered an overgrown road running through the Fallow Mire that she says could prove useful to our people. She claims that, because of where it runs, it can cut an enormous amount of time off of our travels to and from the area, allowing us to bypass the worst of the mountainous terrain. There are a number of options regarding how we can ultimately use the road, but I think we can all agree that something like this would be invaluable.”

Cullen emphatically nodded his agreement. “Yes. Bring it forth to the Inquisitor when he gets back. Our soldiers and healers could certainly make use of a shortcut through the Frostbacks, and I’m sure many of them would be glad to assist in cleaning up the area. I will canvass the ranks for volunteers and give you an estimate on numbers for your future reference.”

“Thank you,” Leliana replied. “And what do you have, Commander?”

He thumbed through the reports he had brought and withdrew a folded letter with a broken seal. “The only thing I have worth sharing is a letter from Knight-Commander Brycen of Hasmal,” he pushed the letter in question to the center of the table, and Josephine picked it up curiously as Cullen continued. “He has contacted us in hopes that we can help him. Apparently he harbors a number of loyalist mages in Hasmal’s tower, still, but he fears that the paranoia caused by the war will result in a mob swarming the gates. Since we have taken the rebel mages under our wing, he hopes we can also safeguard these loyalists before something happens that he and his men cannot stop.”

“We could easily turn this in our favor,” Josephine remarked. “A few words from my diplomats, and Hasmal will gladly send the mages our way to be rid of them.”

“Or we could just make the mages disappear from Hasmal overnight,” Leliana suggested with a shrug.

“Or we could send our own Templars to handle it,” Cullen added. “Ser Barris has been eager to contribute to the cause. Hasmal will let him in willingly if they know they are there for the mages, Brycen will trust him to take care of them, and he and his men would be ideal for protecting their charges on the journey back here.”

“Any option will do,” I said.

“Excellent,” Josephine replied. “I will keep this letter and present it to the Inquisitor at our next meeting, then. Since we will be sending official agents to handle the matter publically, it must be at his approval.”

“Of course,” was Cullen’s response.

“Anything else?”

We all glanced to each other.

“It appears this meeting is concluded, then,” said Leliana.

We all murmured our thanks and began to leave, but then, when I was halfway towards the door, Josephine called, “Oh, and Tamsyn?”

I turned back. “Yes, Ambassador?”

“I wanted to let you know that Bull’s request has been sent,” she said as she gathered her paperwork. Leliana cast her friend a curious look as she made her way around the table, but said nothing. “Although, I will tell you it took me a good two hours to think of _anyone_ who might be able to help us obtain what he wanted in the quantity he suggested. I shudder to think how expensive this is going to be. Is it really that important?”

I spared a glance to Leliana, who appeared even more curious at the Ambassador’s cryptic words, and Cullen, who had actually stopped near the door and looked back at us, his own expression one of puzzlement.

“Uh…it’s a long story, really,” I said with an anxious laugh. “But I’m sure as far as Bull is concerned, _yes_. It _is_ that important.”

\------------------------------------------------------

After we left the war room, I lingered and waited in Josephine’s office until both Cullen and Leliana had continued through to the main hall before turning around and asking the Ambassador, “Josie…if I wanted to make purchases using my earnings from the Inquisition, how would I go about doing that?”

She glanced up as she smoothed her skirt under her legs and sat down in her chair behind her desk. “Oh, it is quite simple, really. If your transactions are made with merchants who are set up with permanent stalls here, then you would simply let them make note of your purchase. They send the charges to me at the end of every day, and I have the appropriate totals withdrawn from our treasury funds and delivered to them as payment.”

“Oh,” I said, slightly astonished that Josephine was essentially utilizing a simplistic form of checks. “That _is_ easy.”

She nodded. “It is certainly a better system than handling constant withdrawals during the day.”

Curious, I asked, “So, what if a person accidentally charges more than they have earned? What then?”

“Well, for now, I would simply have my accountant make note that the person in question has a deficit until their earnings make up for the difference. We are lucky that we have a steady enough income at the moment to cover payments like this without it endangering the Inquisition’s budget. And, thankfully, we have had no one yet go into debt.” She propped her elbows on her desk and peaked her fingers as she added, “Why? Do you wish to know your funds?”

“Yes, please,” I affirmed.

“Very well, one moment,” she replied, moving to retrieve a large ledger from a nearby shelf. “Ela is not available right now, so…”

She opened the ledger and flipped through it, pausing not far from the beginning of the book and running a long finger down one page until she finally found the line she was looking for.

“The amount is in Fereldan coinage, since that is what we started with in Haven,” she explained. “Your total is…one sovereign, eighty-five silver, and fifty-three bits. Would you like that written down for your reference?”

“If you would, yes.”

“Of course.”

She closed the ledger and found a piece of parchment. Then, dipping her quill in her ink, she swiftly wrote the amount and gently blew on the paper to help dry it. After a minute, she handed it to me with a smile. “There you are. Planning on making a few Satinalia purchases, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” I said musingly, smiling back.

Her smile spread into a wider grin. “There is no better time than the present. Our merchants already offer a discount to members of the Inquisition, and I hear there are several who are reducing prices by an even greater percentage because of the occasion. Best to take advantage of it, while you can.”

I dipped my head. “Will do, Lady Ambassador. Thank you, and a good day to you!”

“And you as well, Tamsyn.”

Unable to wipe the yet lingering smile off of my face, I was almost jittery with excitement as I headed back towards my room to fetch my smaller satchel so I could carry my imminent purchases. I was certain I didn’t have enough money to get something for all thirteen Inner Circle members, yet. But I _could_ buy a few things for those who had shown me so much kindness and acceptance. With whom I had the best relationships thus far.

I most certainly wanted to get something for all three advisors, since they had worked with me most. I also wanted to find something for Maxwell and Cassandra, as without them, I wouldn’t have been able to join the Inquisition at all. Rylen and Lea both deserved something, and so did Iron Bull, since he had been so kind...

But, that all depended on what the merchants had available, and I worried that all the vendors’ decent stock had already been picked over.

Yet, when I finally arrived at the stalls set up near the paddock, I noticed that much of the tables were still full. There was positively _everything_ one could imagine for sale there, from small baubles to weapons and armor. The Inner Circle could obtain all the equipment they could ever want from Harritt, so I skipped over the latter and found myself drawn to smaller, more personal items. Thankfully, there weren’t that many people milling about at the moment, and so I briefly lost myself in perusing.

“Something I can assist you with, madame?”

At the sound of the distinctly Orlesian voice, I looked up. Standing opposite me was none other than Bonny Sims, smiling politely at me over her ruff collar.

I smiled back. “Oh, I’m just browsing for Satinalia gifts.”

She inclined her head. “Of course. I am happy to inform you that for all members of the Inquisition, I offer a special discount, and that, in light of the special occasion, my prices have been lowered even further. You won’t find better anywhere else.”

“So I hear,” I said absently, my eye already drawn to a small, engraved wooden box on the merchant’s table. It was deep red with a satin finish, and burned upon its hexagonal lid was what appeared to be a tiny map of Thedas. Carefully, I picked it up, and as I opened it to see what was inside, Bonny Sims explained, “A compass, madame. A perfect gift for a traveler. The box is Antivan mahogany, and the rose itself is brass. Crafted in Cumberland, I believe.”

I watched as the compass moved when I moved, nodding and smiling to myself. It seemed an appropriate present for Maxwell, for whenever he returned, and it was something he could definitely use in the field in the near future.

“How much?” I asked.

“Ten silver, madame. Are you a resident of the castle?”

“Yes.”

“Then I shall make note.”

Bonny then procured a piece of parchment and took note of my purchase while I continued browsing her wares. She wasn’t being a pushy saleswoman, and so I felt comfortable lingering around her stall to see what else I could find. I kept repeating names in my mind, trying desperately to find something that would fit one of them: _Cass, Leli, Josie, Lea, Rylen, Cullen, Bull…_

 _Bull_. My eyes at last fell on a fanciful silvery ale tankard, complete with hinged lid, and engraved with an intricate scene that wrapped around it. Grinning, I picked it up and felt it had a significant weight to it. “Now this would be perfect for a friend of mine.”

Bonny chuckled. “That is a steel flagon from Orzammar. I am told it depicts dwarves from an ancient thaig fighting darkspawn in the Deep Roads, although the design is a little busy to know for certain. For fifty bits, it is yours.”

“That is quite a bargain,” I said. “I’ll take it.”

“I am pleased you agree,” Bonny remarked, noting the second purchase.

After that, the shopping suddenly became a lot more difficult.

For Josephine, I finally settled on a pair of long gold hairpins, the ends of them shaped like filigree butterflies. She seemed fond of more intricate hairdos, and I hoped perhaps she would find them useful, especially when dressing for more formal occasions. The gold would also match her most favored outfit.

Rylen’s gift was an Antivan leather belt, complete with several pouches, all embossed with leaflike designs and paired with an antler-handled knife in a matching scabbard – something he could use both here at Skyhold and later in the Western Approach. For Lea, I bought a beautiful silk scarf. It was dark green to bring out the color in her eyes, and the intricate embroidered designs in gold reminded me of the elves’ delicate traditional craftsmanship. Her gift was something I wanted her to have just for the sake of having it.

In a similar vein, I dared not buy a book for Cassandra, for fear that she had already read it, and so instead I purchased a small vial of rose-scented perfume Bonny recommended based on what I knew of her preferences. The fragrance had a bit of a spicy undertone to it and wasn’t light at all, which I thought was fitting. The Seeker would likely appreciate something feminine, but not frilly.

Leliana was especially tricky to buy for. What to get the mysterious Nightingale? I knew she was interested in Chantry lore, but if I went with anything Chantry-related, I risked getting something she already had. It was only when Bonny began pulling information out of me that we found something I hoped would work. In a case behind her, Bonny had a whole set of carved crystal animals, and one of them was a nug, made of rose quartz and about as large as my palm. The piece was an exquisitely accurate likeness of the creatures, all the way down to the hand-like feet, and polished smooth as a river rock. It wasn’t at all like giving her a real nug, of course, but perhaps it would be an amusing nod to her adoration for the little animals and a reminder of the pets she left behind at home.

At last, there was only one gift left to buy, and that was for Cullen. I had considered one of the sleek-looking knives at the end of Bonny’s table to replace one of the ones I had caused him to lose in the battle at Haven, but then I remembered he could easily obtain two more from Harritt to his own specifications without cost. Rubbing at my bottom lip, I shook my head as I looked over what was left of Bonny’s stock. My eyes kept lingering on a bronze piece lying to one side, tilted upwards on a cushion of velvet in its plain black box. It was circular, with the face crafted into the shape of a snarling lion’s head. I had initially dismissed it because it was no doubt intended for an Orlesian.

But, then again, it was such a fitting image for the lion-helmed Commander. I sighed, picking it up to examine it more closely.

_The Valmonts don’t have a monopoly on lions, damnit._

The eyes of the lion were set with small polished chips of tiger’s eye, shimmering with movement in the sunlight, and I felt myself smile. _How appropo_. I took the metal in my hands, and lifting it from its cushion, a short chain spilled over my fingertips. There appeared to be a hinge on one side of the bronze disc, and it was then I noticed the hairline seam around its edge.

“What is this?” I mused aloud, carefully prying the hinged lid open…

…and on the inside was what I knew from Earth as a pocket watch.

“A dwarven timepiece,” Bonny Sims said. “I was told it once belonged to a Chevalier, and it was sold by his widow, but I cannot confirm the validity of that tale. I had it examined by the Formari, and I was told the rune that powers it is still active and will not require a recharge for another few months. The face is ivory, and the images were hand-painted by an Orlesian artist.”

Images indeed; it not only displayed the time with classic hands and numerals, but the top portion of the watch also depicted the phases of the moons in astonishing detail, the proper phase indicated by a third tiny hand. A small, wedge-shaped panel on the right side of the face showed the number of the month along with a symbol for the current season – a bare tree for winter. As far as I knew, it worked perfectly, ticking when I brought it to my ear, and as I closed the watch again, I marveled at how it was unmarred, despite having previously been owned. The Chevalier in question must have treated it well, though it being made of bronze instead of something softer like gold also helped.

Part of me worried he wouldn’t like it. But another part of me loved it so much I couldn’t resist. I regretted passing over it so easily earlier. It was perfect. _Too perfect_ , I thought as I shifted the watch in my hands again, and the lion’s eyes flashed fire.

“Fifteen silver, if you are interested, madame,” Bonny Sims said at length, breaking me out of my reverie.

“I’ll take it.”

\------------------------------------------------------

With some finesse, I managed to stuff all of my procured gifts into my old satchel. My total charge, which Bonny Sims sent along to Josephine, was forty-seven silvers and thirty bits – far from blowing my entire savings, which the Lady Ambassador would likely appreciate. When I left the merchant’s stall at last, returning back the way I had come towards the keep, I felt myself grinning like an idiot, but with an accompanying nervous flutter in the pit of my stomach that I couldn’t quite suppress. I sincerely hoped that the recipients would truly like their gifts, especially after I had worked so hard to find things that suited their tastes, and I also hoped I hadn’t bought anything that would offend…

As if decreed by fate, as soon as I set foot within the main hall once more, one of the recipients showed themselves. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting immediately beyond the entrance, but the silhouette that was backlit by the harsh glare of the afternoon sun streaming through the rear windows belonged to none other than the Commander himself.

I blinked rapidly in an attempt to force my eyes to adjust more quickly, noticing he was walking rather casually in my direction. “Tamsyn,” he greeted me. “Do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Commander. What is it?” I said, moving closer to the garden door where he lingered.

As I neared, he offered me a small smile. “I find myself blessedly free of pressing matters for the time being. Do you have anything that requires your attention, or can you spare an hour or two?”

I briefly wondered what he was thinking. “Nothing of great import is on my schedule. What do you have in mind?”

He gestured with one hand, which I now saw was occupied by an oddly-shaped box. “Only a game of chess, if you would like. I haven’t played since Haven, and I find myself itching for a round.” He jerked his other thumb at the door. “The gardens have been cleared, and I hear there’s a decent spot there to relax, if you’d care to join me.”

I found myself grinning more widely, even as my cheeks heated a little. “Of course, Commander. How could I refuse?”

“Excellent.”

With that, he pushed through the door and I followed, ultimately entering into the gardens that were finally free of all unsightly brush. Though the grass was still tall, all the dead and dying bushes had been cut away, and the myriad of small saplings had been removed, leaving only a few mature birches left to shade the plot with their stubbornly-lingering foliage. A few workers remained here and there, sweeping away brown leaves from the surrounding portico with straw brooms, but the place was otherwise empty. A pair of chairs and a table had already been placed at the gazebo, for which he made a beeline. It wasn’t the nice table and chairs I remembered from the game, but I knew they would likely be replaced as soon as Josie could get her hands on more satisfactory furniture.

“So, you managed to save your board from Haven?” I asked curiously as we sat down.

“Oh, no,” he replied, pulling up his chair opposite me and setting the box on the table. “This was a Satinalia gift from Josephine – in her words, ‘so I could finally have my own.’ The one I used before was one that was already at the Singing Maiden. I merely borrowed it.”

“Oh.”

He then opened the box, and within were the pieces – what appeared to be gold embellished marble for the white and obsidian for the black. The interior of the box itself, once open, _was_ the board, and the hinged walls of the box folded downward to make a platform for it once empty. A bit of panic gnawed inside me as I realized the game was the hexagonal version.

“I’ve…well, I’ve never played this kind,” I said, punctuating it with a slightly nervous chuckle.

“Really? It’s not much different. I’ll show you.”

He then proceeded to explain the differences between the two versions of chess, and while I honestly tried to pay close attention to what he was saying, most of it was lost in the smooth, hypnotizing rhythm of his speech. I found myself distracted by the fluid and yet precise way he placed the pieces in their appropriate spots on the board, as if he had performed the very same motions a thousand times before. I watched those leather-clad fingers, slender and deft, and I remembered the feel of them through my own gloves as he had wrapped my hand around Dane’s reins – firm, and yet gentle at the same time. I remembered the soft pressure through my jacket as they held me in place in the saddle, splayed over the sash that was bound at my waist…

_Stop it!_

My internal admonishment came right about the time he glanced up at me, the look on his face of ever-so-slight mischief and the spark of eagerness in his eyes immediately locking up my brain like a frozen computer. That left me desperately trying to revive myself, as I was almost certain he had asked me a question, but I wasn’t at all aware of what it was.

“I- _ahem…_ well,” I managed to stutter out at last, tearing my eyes away from his so I could actually talk. “I’m still almost positive I’m going to lose, Commander.”

He chuckled, the deep, throaty sound threatening to cause an absolute meltdown. “We shall see,” he said, advancing a pawn and thus beginning our game.

I forced myself to focus on solely the chess pieces in an attempt to block out everything else that could distract me, especially that ridiculously attractive, smug grin of his. I was almost one hundred percent sure he was totally oblivious of just how hot he was. Either that or he was actually completely aware and actively using it as a weapon against me. Not that he needed to, of course, because despite having become something of a chess champion against my mother, I was still no match for the Commander of the Inquisition and likely never would be.

The game was a mere dance of pieces at first, but it didn’t take long for my numbers to begin dwindling. By chance, I managed to knock two of Cullen’s pawns out of the running, but that was nothing. Despite the strategic challenge, though, I felt myself begin to relax a little over time, and as I cocked my head and contemplated what was sure to be another foolish move, Cullen remarked quietly, “You seem much more adjusted to your life here than when last we played this. But…I know appearances can be deceiving. You mentioned recovering quickly after Haven, but how are you faring day to day?”

“Hmm?” I hummed absently as I moved a pawn for lack of a better idea. “Oh, well…” I paused, blinking as I considered his question. “I guess I’m as well as I can be, really, all things considered. I know it’s probably stupid, but I still have to resist the urge to pinch myself sometimes. But…it’s getting easier. Little by little. Acceptance is still hard, especially when a lot of memories come flooding back. But I don’t have any other choice. And to be honest, I’m starting to enjoy myself at times. Like now,” I said, looking up at him and smiling.

“That is…good to hear,” he replied softly, smiling back even while deftly taking the pawn I just moved with one of his bishops.

“What about you?” I asked after a long moment. “You know, your day-to-day. With your abstinence thing.” I was met by a quizzical stare and I swiftly realized my error. “Not sex, the _lyrium_!” I clarified hastily. “I mean, it _could_ be sex too for all I know but…I mean…uh…” I coughed hard to cover up the flaming blush that blazed up my neck and burned in my cheeks, “ _You get it!_ ”

He shook his head in amusement as he looked back down at the board, and I could have sworn his ears and cheeks were tinted pink just the slightest amount. “I get it, yes, thank you.” Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, and he glanced away for a few breaths before answering, “There is no use hiding it from you, as you know anyway. It _is_ getting worse, slowly but surely. I can feel it intensifying by a hair’s breadth almost every day. It’s still manageable, and I try not to think about it. Having so much to do helps. But still, I…” he trailed, falling silent.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” I said quickly. “I understand. I don’t mean to pry for details. Just…know that if you want to talk to me at any time, it’s fine. I’d be happy to lend an ear for you.”

He nodded his gratitude, leaning forward once more. “I appreciate it, Tamsyn. And believe me, knowing _you_ know how this all turns out...it is difficult not to indulge myself.” He hesitated, then moved his queen. “And…it appears as though the game is mine.”

I tossed my hands upwards and flopped back in my chair. “Told you. See, I know the future of even our chess matches.”

There was that smirk again. “That sort of burden must be terrible indeed.”

“ _Hey!_ ” I retorted, picking up a pawn and threatening to throw it at him as he raised his hands to shield himself.

“Well, there is always the possibility the future could change,” he replied. “You’ve said so, yourself.”

“That…is true.”

At that, he began folding the board back into a box, and I remembered the Satinalia gift I had for him in my bag. For a brief moment, I wondered whether I should wait to give it to him. But then, glancing around and noticing the garden was still private, I took a breath and decided to go ahead.

“So, Commander…” I began, reaching for my satchel.

“Yes?”

“I don’t really know much about Satinalia practices, either locally or worldwide, so I’m a little tentative about participating in it for the first time. But I got you a little something I hope you’ll like.”

He paused. “You did? But…I mean you didn’t _have_ to…”

“I know I didn’t,” I said, grinning. “But I wanted to. You’ve been kind to me. And now you’re taking time to teach me a skill that will stay with me forever. I was hoping I could return the favor and give you something you could use forever, too. Here,” I set the box in the middle of the table and waited for him to take it.

Tentatively, he picked up the box and slowly opened it with careful fingers, lifting the lid to see the watch that lay on its bed of velvet. His brows rose, and as he set down the lid and took the piece in hand, a faint smile flickered across his lips. He tilted it back and forth, watching the light shimmer in the tiger’s eye chips. Then, his gaze traveled to the small hinge, and he ran a fingertip over it.

“It opens?”

“Go on,” I said with a nod, encouraging him as I watched with great anticipation.

He passed his gloved thumb over the surface of the lion’s head before cautiously flipping open the timepiece to reveal its face. Once he glimpsed what was within, his brows arced high, and his lips parted a little in what could only be an expression of sheer shock. In that moment, the watch seemed so small in his hand; it had looked much bigger at Bonny’s stall. He was quiet for a very long time as he simply looked at it, drinking in every detail, and the silence stretched long enough that I couldn’t help but start to worry.

“Do you not like it?” I asked quietly, fearing the worst.

“Oh, no!” he replied hastily. Then, realizing how it might have sounded, he amended, “I mean, _yes, I like it_. Very much. I’m…” he trailed, his head cocking a little as he examined the face more closely. “I’m simply astonished, Tamsyn. I never thought I would own one of these. It’s…something a nobleman would wear.”

“You _are_ noble.”

The phrase was out before I could stop it, and it was answered by a puzzled look and slight furrow of his brow.

Smiling even as I swore I was blushing, I elaborated, “Where I come from, nobility isn’t a social status. It’s a character trait.”

He blinked. As I met his gaze, I could almost _feel_ the thousand things that were rushing through his mind in that moment…

“You really think I’m-”

“Commander!”

I fought the urge to groan aloud as none other than the agent with the poorest timing in the entire Inquisition suddenly manifested near Cullen’s elbow as if by magic.

“Ser! A report just came in on the caravan situation at Edgehall. The Lieutenant is awaiting your orders.”

Cullen sighed heavily. “All right. Give me a moment, and I’ll be at my station.”

“Yes, ser.”

He stood with a slight _clink_ of metal and the creaking of leather, shaking his head slowly in dismay as Jim strode off and disappeared in the shadows of the portico. “Back to work, it seems.”

“So it does,” I said, standing myself and pushing in my chair.

He closed the watch and replaced it in its box, stacking it atop the chess set. “Thank you very much for the gift, Tamsyn. And the game.” He smiled gently. “Later, then?”

“Later,” I agreed, nodding as I straightened my clothes and satchel. He then began to walk away, but before he made it three steps, I stopped him, recalling the question he had left unasked.

“And Commander?”

He halted in his tracks and half-turned back towards me. “Yes, Tamsyn?”

“I don’t _think_ you’re noble. I _know_ you are.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long! Hope you enjoy! :D

The warm haze of contentment that enveloped me made the journey from the gardens to my room pass by in a dream-like blur. The look Cullen had given me at my parting words had succeeded in finally turning my heart into an absolute puddle of goo. At first, he had appeared simultaneously stricken with shock and laid bare to the soul. But then, after a second, he smiled, and it wasn’t his usual polite or even a smirky type of smile. It was soft and…pleased, even.

And then _I_ felt like the one who had been laid bare under its weight.

_Maker, that man…_

I wasn’t stupid enough to think it meant that much. But it was still a wonderful feeling. We had finally been able to spend some quality time relaxing together, just the two of us, and he had actually liked my gift. He was happy. So I was happy. All was right with the world. In that moment, nothing short of total apocalyptic disaster could have ruined my good mood.

However, when I finally managed to shake off the dreamy fog of serenity and opened the door to my room, setting my bag aside within, I squinted suspiciously at one small difference that immediately caught my eye.

There was a box on my bed that I hadn’t left there that morning.

_Odd…_

Both curious and cautious at the same time, I made my way over to it, carefully picking it up in my hands. It wasn’t all that heavy. The box itself was relatively small and circular, made of wood with a rich walnut hue, and the edges were rounded over smoothly. The lid was inlaid with what appeared to be an intricate hunting scene in a lighter colored wood, and the whole thing was polished to a satin shine that shimmered in the light of the sconce on the wall.

Opening it at last, I saw a piece of parchment lying on top of the contents inside. Taking the small piece of paper in hand, I unfolded it and read the message penned there in elegant Orlesian:

_Dear Tamsyn,_

_Here is a little something I hope you will like. Your wardrobe and, as I understand it, your toilette supplies, are both rather limited at the moment. Consider this the beginning of a remedy to that problem._

_Happy Satinalia,_

_Josephine_

_PS: Don’t save it. Use it._

I blinked, astonished.

Josie had gotten me a gift.

Setting aside the note and examining the contents of the box, then, I saw there were several tiny jars and a few thin brushes packed within. Brow furrowing in curiosity, I picked up a few of the jars and squinted at them to try and see what was inside. Through the thick and slightly warped glass of each container, I could see pigmented material.

And then it hit me.

_Cosmetics._

That had to be it. Judging from the colors and sizes of the containers, there appeared to be two tiny jars for eye makeup, one black and the other a somewhat browner hue. Two more jars, slightly larger, had soft coral and dusky rose contents. _Rouge?_ The materials in the largest jars possessed richer colors – a warm pink and a darker wine red. Those must have been lipstick, then.

As I set the jars back into the box, I saw my own eyebrows lift in my reflection in the lid of the box, into which had been set a small polished mirror. I critically examined the Tamsyn in the glass: I _did_ look rather washed out, and though my uniform hat helped balance my appearance somewhat, my hairstyle was still quite harsh around my face.

One by one, I picked up the small brushes and couldn’t help but feel a little excited – and a tiny bit uneasy, of course. Admittedly, I wasn’t that knowledgeable about the history of cosmetics, especially not in Thedas, but a small part of me couldn’t help but wonder just what sort of minerals were in this makeup and whether nor not prolonged exposure would actually shorten my life…

But the larger part of me was a little too giddy to care.

I couldn’t stop smiling. It was a lovely and generous gift. And probably very expensive. But Josephine seemed insistent that I use it and not hoard it…and the little voice in my head seemed rather insistent, too. And who was I to deny them?

 _What will Cullen think?_ I found myself wondering.

I was about to dive headlong into imagining such a scenario when an abrupt knock broke me out of my thoughts. I quickly snapped the lid of the box shut just as the door opened, revealing a slightly flushed Lea entering the room.

“Ah, you’re back!” she said a little breathlessly, a smile spreading across her face as she wiped her damp bangs out of her eyes with one hand, her other occupied by a small basket. “I was hoping you would be.”

I moved to the dresser where I set down the box beside my writing utensils. “Oh? What is it, Lea?”

“Food!” she said, indicating the basket. “It’s a madhouse out there. Cook just rang for supper and the soldiers are already fighting each other for a place in line.” She lifted the small cloth covering the contents. “I remembered you didn’t like crowds too much, so I managed to grab a few fresh pies and some water for us before the kitchen became inescapable.”

“Good idea,” I agreed, certainly not wanting to be in the middle of all that chaos and thankful Lea had thought of our sanity.

And thus, we sat down to eat.

The pies smelled heavenly and tasted even better. The boar was a bit gamey in flavor, just as it had been the day before, but the seasonings the cook had put in it helped with that, and so did the thick and flaky pastry of the pies. It seemed she had put onions and carrots in the meat mixture, too, which was a welcome addition of more vegetables in our diet, if a bit limited. All in all, the pies were really quite filling, and two each was more than enough for the both of us.

When at last we finished, stuffed full and wiping off our greasy hands from the buttered crusts, I suddenly remembered Lea’s Satinalia gift. I abruptly hopped up from where I had been sitting on the edge of the bed, rummaging through my satchel, much to her curiosity.

“What is it? Did you forget something?”

“More like remembered it.”

I carefully pulled the embroidered scarf from the bag and then proffered it to her. “Happy Satinalia, Lea!”

Her green eyes went impossibly wide. For a moment, she simply stared at it, open-mouthed. Then, she gingerly took the silk fabric from my fingers, as though it would crumble to dust from her merely touching it.

“Oh…oh my,” she breathed as she slowly unfolded it, “It’s…it’s so lovely! I’ve never…” she trailed as she traced the golden embroidery with one finger.

“It’s a scarf,” I explained, in case it wasn’t apparent to her. “But it’s big enough to wear around your neck or over your hair. Whichever you want. I wanted to get you something you could use, but also something just to have because it’s pretty.”

She looked back up at me, and her eyes were sparkling with emotion so much I thought _I_ would cry. “Tamsyn, it’s…it’s beautiful!”

She then sprang up and threw her arms around me, squeezing me so tightly I could barely breathe. “Thank you so much!”

I laughed as much as her hold would allow. “You’re very welcome, Lea.”

She then pushed back almost as quickly as she had hugged me to begin with, confusion writ on her countenance. “But…it’s so fancy! Whenever would I wear it?”

I grinned and shrugged. “It’s yours. Whenever you damned well please.”

\------------------------------------------------------

If my tailbone could scream, it would be howling nonstop.

Shortly before noon the following day, I had finished with Cullen’s second riding lesson. Even though he had given me a day off to recover due to the war meeting and the great hall incident, by the time we were done, it felt as though I hadn’t had a break at all.

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t let me ride with him and Dane again. Instead, he had Dennet pick out a horse for me – a palomino Taslin Strider mare called Zaira. She was certainly easier to manage than Dane from a size standpoint, as she was several hands shorter than the larger warhorse, and for an experienced rider, her gait was comfortable. The only downside was that she had a stubborn streak a mile wide; she wasn’t overly feisty or violent by any means, she simply possessed a base reluctance to do…well, pretty much anything.

It didn’t help that she was older than most of the other mounts in the stable, and that she was apparently quite slow to become accustomed to new people due to that innate stubbornness. Dennet assured me, however, that once she got to know me better, she would be far more obedient and accommodating.

At this rate, though, that point seemed entirely too far into the future.

Once I _finally_ got her out to the snowy valley with Cullen, after repeating exercises from the previous lesson to refresh my memory and give me time to get used to Zaira’s sensitivity, he introduced me to the trot.

And that was what caused me to practically bruise my coccyx.

Admittedly, it wasn’t Zaira’s fault. She was a riding horse by blood, her breed prized by Antivan ladies, each of her gaits as elegant and smooth as they could possibly be. No, the fault entirely lay with me, who didn’t have the damned coordination or strength in her legs to go along with the rhythm of the trot or a heavy enough body and deep enough seat to keep from bouncing up and down like a jack-in-the-box.

When we finally returned to the castle hours later, I was sure I’d have to sit on a soft cushion for a week.

_Elfroot potion..._

It wasn’t all bad, though. I was able to spend more time with Cullen, and I actually had my own horse now, stubborn as she was. Despite my sore tailbone, I was rather pleased with myself, and I felt as though I were moving forward a bit more; I was becoming better prepared to handle the world beyond Skyhold, thanks to the good Commander.

The good and _patient_ Commander.

Considering how sweaty I was after the session despite the cold of the Frostbacks, I was thankful I hadn’t tried to use the makeup Josephine had given me before going out that morning. As much as I wanted to experiment with it, I knew as long as I had the potential to be involved in training, it was probably a good idea to hold off on that. I had no idea if cosmetics in Thedas could be any semblance of waterproof, and the last thing I needed was eyeliner or mascara running down my face and rouge melting off of my cheeks. Our noble guests would surely frown on me more for walking around like that than having no makeup at all.

Naturally, Cullen was occupied as soon as he got back in the gates again, and so after I handed Zaira off to one of Dennet’s grooms, I headed back to my quarters to retrieve my satchel full of gifts – after taking an elfroot potion from my diminishing supply, of course. I’d have to remember to refill my stock soon…

Lea was already busy that day helping with more Satinalia food prep, as well as beginning the preservation of what vegetables and fruits we had been able to obtain over the course of the previous week; the latest wagons of produce had likely been the last we would see until spring or summer, now that we were heading deep into winter, the final harvests in both Orlais and Ferelden long over. The last I saw of my elven friend, she had been heading towards the kitchens with her new scarf on her head, worn over her ponytail and tied under her chin.

When I finally reentered the main hall with my satchel slung across my body, I noticed Josephine was busy instructing workers with new (if a bit rustic) tables and chairs, so I decided not to bother her at the moment. A peek outside revealed Cassandra still immersed in her mid-morning training routine. Thus, I decided to head across the hall and up to Leliana’s rookery to see if the Nightingale had a moment to spare. I quickly moved through Solas’s rotunda to mount the stairs – even though he wasn’t in the tower at the time, I still didn’t want the possibility of being detained by him. Ascending quickly, I paused at the top to catch my breath, looking around in an attempt to locate the lady spymaster.

One of her larger ravens watched me from its perch on a nearby barrel as an agent rolled up a note to tie to its leg. It gave me a throaty caw, but otherwise remained obediently still. Looking up as I moved farther into the topmost part of the rotunda, I noticed a great many cages hanging above me, some occupied, others not, all of them accessed via levers and winches. It was a fancy setup, and much farther along than the last time I had been in the rookery, but it was still rather unpleasant, as the odor of the many birds was nothing if not pungent.

Proceeding a bit more into the chamber, I finally noticed Leliana kneeling at her new altar to Andraste, obviously immersed in prayer. Taking care not to disturb her, I decided to quietly perch on the stool opposite her chair at her makeshift desk until she was finished. A few agents smiled and nodded to me as they passed me by on their way to and from the ravens, but they said nothing, almost as if they were being silent out of deference to their mistress as well.

Finally, after a few more moments, she stood, making her way back to her desk with a somewhat serene expression. She didn’t seem surprised to see me in the least, giving me a small nod of greeting as she approached. “Tamsyn. Is there something you need?”

I smiled tentatively. “Just a moment of your time, if you have one to spare.”

“I do,” she said, pulling out her chair and seating herself opposite me. “What is it?” She asked, her expression turning curious.

I grinned more widely. “Something for you, Sister Nightingale.”

“For me?”

“Of course,” I replied, opening my satchel to find her present. “I couldn’t let Satinalia pass by without giving you a little something.” I fished the little figurine out of the bag and held it out in the palm of my gloved hand. “Tada!”

Her thin eyebrows rose quite high, and when she took the crystal, the most girlish gasp escaped her, her blue eyes as large as saucers. She gingerly turned the figurine over and over, taking in every detail.

“Ohhhhh, it’s a _nug!_ ” she exclaimed, her whole face lighting up. I could only wonder what the nearby agents were thinking as they worked.

_Totally worth it._

“I know how much you love them,” I said, grinning even harder at her reaction. “It’s the closest I could get to the real thing to add to your collection.”

“I do! Oh, Tamsyn, it’s _adorable_ ,” she said, holding the crystal up to the light to see how it shone through the pale pink stone. Then, briefly glancing back to me, she added, “And, in all honestly, preferable to the real thing, even as much as I miss my darling pets. At least I won’t have to worry about it relieving itself on the castle rugs.”

She then carefully placed the crystal nug on her desk, facing outwards atop a small stack of folded parchment, giving it a final pat on its smoothly-polished head. “There. That shall be her new home. And I will have to think on a name.” She smiled warmly as she returned her attention to me. “Thank you, Tamsyn. I really do appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“You’re very welcome, Sister Nightingale,” I said, standing slowly. “I sincerely hope it makes your days a little brighter.”

“I am certain it will,” she replied with a nod. I then turned to leave, not wanting to take up too much of her precious time, but she suddenly stopped me. “Wait a moment, Tamsyn. I do have one question for you.”

“Yes?” I asked, curious as I turned back towards her.

“How are your riding lessons going?” she inquired, a bit of a sparkle in her eye.

_Oh._

Some small part of me knew she had to be fishing for something…

Ultimately, I grimaced, replying simply, “ _Painfully_ ,” and when she chuckled a bit at my dry response, I added, “I’m terribly out of shape, so that really doesn’t help.”

She cocked her head. “Perhaps you should join the soldiers for morning exercises,” she suggested. “That would undoubtedly build both strength and stamina, and for more things than just riding.”

I barked out a laugh. “And become the laughingstock of the whole Inquisition?”

She shook her head, her tone reassuring. “They won’t laugh. Half or more of those soldiers were in the same condition as you a few months ago.” Pausing, she glanced off for a moment, and then added, “You could also ask Cassandra to help you. She could use a sparring partner, I think.”

 _Oh, that would be rich_ , I thought. Sparring with Cassandra would likely be ten times as aggressive as it had been with Delia and result in even more bruises. Still, Leliana had a point. And I didn’t need to lose my edge…

“Speaking of practices,” I continued, “Strider mentioned I might ask you to assign me a new trainer. I know the likelihood of me being in the field is slim at this point, but I do fear my archery skills are going to deteriorate if I don’t use them.”

She frowned. “No, I’m afraid I don’t have anyone I can spare for the job.” She glanced off for a minute again. “You could practice with me I suppose,” she said at length, her gaze returning to mine.

My brows rose at her proposal. “Really?”

She nodded thoughtfully. “If you have the time and inclination. I usually dedicate an hour each afternoon, just before supper. I was practicing in the courtyard, but since the brush was cleared, I moved a few targets to the garden portico.”

I grinned. “I would love to join you, if you really don’t mind.”

She smiled back. “Of course not. This afternoon, then?”

“I’ll be there.”

\------------------------------------------------------

On the way back down the stairs, I noticed Dorian walking to his usual haunt in the library with a wine bottle and a pair of goblets in his hands. Upon seeing me approach, he raised the bottle a bit in greeting. “Ah, Tamsyn! Good to see you again. Care to join me for a bit of Satinalia celebration?”

I grinned at his kind gesture. “Of course. How could I refuse?”

“Excellent!” he replied with a broad smile. “Drag up a chair, then. I’m certain there’s an extra one around here somewhere.”

True to his words, I found one not far away. Dodging a mage who was busy shelving some newly-acquired books, I took the chair in hand and set it within the Tevinter’s little reading nook, opposite him. It wasn’t as cushioned as Dorian’s chair was, but it did have a plush seat, which my sore bum was rather thankful for. I resisted the urge to audibly sigh my relief as I sat.

“Here you are,” he said, extending a filled goblet to me. It was half-full of a deep red vintage that smelled strongly of clove and orange.

After he had filled his own glass, then, he set the bottle on the nearby end table and turned back to face me fully. “Shall we toast to the Inquisition, then?”

“That sounds appropriate.”

He nodded, lifting his goblet. “Very well. To the health of our comrades, and our future success.”

“Hear, hear,” I agreed, clinking my glass with his before we both took a drink to seal the toast. The wine he had chosen was very citrusy, and it was almost like drinking spiked fruit punch. It wasn’t bad at all, but it _was_ very strong, and I knew I would have to stop rather soon if I wanted to stay any semblance of sober.

“ _Mm_ ,” he said, a smile spreading across his face as he looked into the goblet. “A little taste of home, that. Makes me miss Minrathous this time of year.”

“Is Satinalia very different there?” I asked, curious about his homeland’s practices.

“Oh, heavens, yes,” he said, his leathers creaking a little as he sat down and settled his weight in his chair opposite me. “In the south, it’s fun, but it’s also quite the religious affair: feasting and gift giving, with the focus on appreciation of family and friends and thanks to the Maker for safety and well-being. In the Imperium, though, it’s much more… _carefree_.” He took another sip of his wine. “It’s less about piety and companionship and far more about wild and fantastical celebration with anyone and everyone. I’m afraid the dear Mothers around here would likely expire to an early grave if they knew what went on during a typical Tevinter Satinalia.”

That made me laugh, and I took another sip of the wine. It was then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone approaching us. Glancing that way, I realized it was Fiona, who looked at us both with a kind, but somewhat exhausted expression on her face.

“Fiona,” Dorian said cheerily as he noticed her nearing. “How goes it? Is there something you need from us?”

“Only to speak with the advisor, if she has a moment,” she said, nodding at me. “I do not believe we have formally met, yet.”

“We haven’t,” I said, standing and extending my free hand to her. “Advisor Tamsyn Ashworth, at your service.”

She smiled as she took it gently. “You may simply call me Fiona. I am somewhat titleless, now, as you are no doubt aware.” She dropped her hand to her side as she continued, “I hear you are somewhat responsible for guiding the Herald of Andraste to Redcliffe to speak with me. I would like to personally thank you for your part in that, even if the outcome was rather less hopeful than some of us had anticipated.”

I nodded my understanding. “I must say that I didn’t expect the Herald to conscript the mages as he did. But, regardless, he managed to free you from your rather dire situation, and that’s what matters for the time being.”

“Indeed,” she replied solemnly. “We have shelter and food, and we are kept safe from those who would see us dead. That is more than we had before. Though we ended up in service to yet another entity, we would be fools to compare the Inquisition to a Tevinter magister.” Glancing to Dorian, she added, “No offense to the young Altus, of course.”

He shrugged. “For the most part, you are correct in your assessment.”

“It does make me wonder, however,” Fiona continued, “what will happen to us once this is all over. I am told you have some knowledge of the future. Tell me if you will…has this all been for naught? Will we find ourselves back in the same condition we fought so hard to escape?”

I took a breath. “That depends on who becomes the next Divine, really. The Circles may be reinstated, with changes or as they were before, or they may be abolished entirely. I’m sorry, Fiona…I can’t tell you any more than that. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Her face fell a little. “I see. Very well. I suppose we will have to put our faith in what is left of the Chantry and hope they choose someone benevolent to our cause, then. Until that time,” she inclined her head to me respectfully, “we must continue our work against Corypheus. Unless we stop him, there will be no new Divine, and everything _will_ have been for naught.” Backing away, she added, “A happy Satinalia to you both.”

And with that, she promptly left to return to her work supervising the other rebels.

As I sat back down in my chair, Dorian slowly shook his head. “A sad case, that. Start a war to get away from imprisonment, and then land right back into the service of the same type of larger organization you wanted to get away from to begin with. Not that I’m saying I have a better solution, you understand. The Herald was in a tight place. And I can’t say the rebels’ deciding to join Alexius’s Venatori was a terribly intelligent move. But still…if the new Divine reinstates the typical southern Circles just as they were before, and the mages end up right back where they started…” he trailed off, draining what remained of his cup.

“Yeah,” I agreed, taking another sip of my own drink as I crossed my legs.

“Tevinter’s not precisely a model society,” he added. “But it seems better than that.”

Silence as I nodded slowly, staring at the bookcase ahead of me filled with old tomes. Dorian poured himself another half-glass while I swirled what remained of mine absently, lost in thought.

“‘Tamsyn Ashworth’…a rather inconspicuous-sounding name for an Inquisition advisor, yes?” he asked suddenly.

My brow furrowed as I looked at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Only that it suits you. It is unexpected, as are you. Leliana has her mysterious epithet and alias of Sister Nightingale. Josephine Montilyet has the weight of her family name alone. Even Cullen Rutherford has a certain authoritative ring to it, especially when you tack the ‘Ser’ onto the front. But your name? It sounds much more…”

“‘Plain?’” I supplied, sipping at my wine again.

“‘Approachable,’ was the term I had in mind,” he said, pulling his ankle up to rest casually atop his knee. “Your name doesn’t hold people at a distance with its loftiness. It’s easy to imagine you as a friend and comrade. And that, in and of itself, means it holds a certain kind of power.”

I sighed, shaking my head after draining my own goblet and setting it aside. “I never really liked my name, you know? My first, at least. My middle name I like much better.”

“Oh?” he said, brows rising. “And what is it?”

“‘Alexandria.’ It was my grandmother’s name.”

“Alexandria,” he echoed slowly, as if rolling the name around on his tongue. “That _does_ have more of a dignified tone, I’ll admit, but it doesn’t seem to fit. Not that I’m saying you’re not dignified, mind you. It’s simply too…too…” he rubbed the fingers of his free hand together as he tried to find the word.

“Too much like my grandmother,” I said flatly, after which we both laughed heartily.

“Yes. Tamsyn is much less matronly. I do like it better, even if _you_ do not.”

“Yes, I know, I’m stuck with it forever,” I said, my tone one of utter resignation.

He chuckled. “Perhaps a nickname, then? Although Tamsyn seems rather short already.”

“If you can think of something,” I said with a shrug. Then, I pointed a finger at him as a thought came to mind. “But don’t you dare start calling me ‘Tammy.’ I hate that name.”

Mischief flashed in his grey eyes. “Even worse than Tamsyn?”

I glared. “Ten million times worse, Dorian Pavus. Don’t even _think_ about it.”

He chortled again, draining his cup’s contents once more. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.”

\------------------------------------------------------

After thanking him for the shared drink, I finally parted ways with Dorian for the day, intent on finding one of my next gift recipients. Perhaps Josie or Cassandra…

Unfortunately, when I reached Solas’s rotunda, I wasn’t as lucky as I had been the first time. Bent over his table examining a crate of supplies, most likely for his future painting, the elf had a full view of me coming down the final steps into the bare-walled room. When he looked up and smiled at me, my stomach immediately flopped in apprehension.

“Ah, Tamsyn. Are you busy?”

I was half-tempted to say that I was.

Instead, I stopped, turning towards him but not moving any closer. “I was…just about to participate in some Satinalia activities, but that’s not precisely important.” I said.

His brows rose in surprise. “Oh? I wouldn’t have thought you so eager to involve yourself in the traditions of this new world.”

I sighed forcefully, desperately trying to hide my irritation at his words. “Well, I thought it was better than clinging to everything I left behind and just burying myself deeper into a hole of guilt and grief. This is my new world, now, and if that’s so, then I have to get used to it. All of it. You said yourself it was better for me to detach myself from what I lost as soon as possible.”

“I did,” he said thoughtfully, with a small nod of agreement. “But I simply wonder if your actions here are driven by your own desire to truly change your life to suit your new environment, or simply a need to be accepted by those around you. It is something I believe you should think on.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Right, because he was the perfect person to be telling me just how to let go of a former life…

“Regardless,” he said, thankfully moving the subject on to something else, “I wanted to talk with you about Cole.”

“Cole?” I repeated. _Great_. I already had a bad feeling about this.

“Yes,” he affirmed with a nod. Then, taking a breath, he began slowly, “Cole is a spirit, as you are likely already aware. Compassion. Because of his nature, he seeks to help anyone and everyone he can by providing what he sees as appropriate solutions to each problem plaguing them, whether in the tangible world or in their minds. This is both a gift and a burden.”

He sighed, glancing down at the table before he went on. “Cole has approached me. He says he cannot sense anything about you…not your thoughts, or even your very self. For him, it is as if you do not exist at all as a person. He can see you and hear you, yes. But everything that makes you who you are within yourself is invisible to him. Do you know of this?”

I hesitated. “Well…yes. I mean, he told me himself not long ago.”

“I see,” he replied. “Then you know of his troubles, but you don’t know the why of them.”

“No,” I said truthfully.

“Hmm,” Solas hummed musingly. “I have done some investigating, and I believe there is something that may be connected. As you no doubt know, I have spent much of my life studying the Fade in my dreams. And I can sense those around me who are also dreaming. Some pull to me stronger than others, but I have seen several of our number here in Skyhold in the Fade with me – Josephine, Leliana, and even Sera, to name but a few. But of all the persons I’ve found, I have yet to see you there. Tell me – do you dream? Or are you as the dwarves, and without visions during sleep?”

 _Shit_. If I lied, he would know it for sure. I was certain he knew the answer already, but he was asking in hopes of entrapping me.

“I…haven’t dreamt since arriving in Thedas, no,” I answered finally, thinking it was best to simply tell the truth.

“Fascinating,” he replied, in such an overtly enthusiastic tone it made me want to slap him. “I imagine you see that as both disconcerting and a blessing, considering the events surrounding your arrival and some of your later experiences.”

“Yes,” was my simple response.

“In any case, that is a minor concern compared to the larger issue of Cole’s distress,” he continued, moving the course of the conversation back to the Forgotten Boy. “Spirits can be rather stubborn in their endeavors, particularly regarding those key to their existence. Cole keeps attempting to find you in your thoughts, so to speak, so that he may work to help you just as he does everyone else here in Skyhold. I fear what will happen to him if he does not stop. As it is, he is not fully spirit and not fully human – a condition I have never before encountered. If he keeps trying to aid you and cannot find success, he will be more inclined to slide into Despair. And that, I am certain, is something we must strive to prevent.”

So Solas suspected Cole might turn demon on us if he couldn’t figure me out.

 _Wonderful_.

“I already told him about what made me different,” I said. “Any suggestions on how I can better reach him?”

Solas was quiet for a moment. Then, taking a breath, he replied, “Tell him again to remind him. And then, perhaps, hint that he should look for solutions in those around you, instead of focusing on you so heavily. Encourage him to speak with your fellows, that through them he will have a better chance of finding the information he seeks. It will give him a different avenue, and with this new path, perhaps he will be able to gain what he needs to feel fulfilled.”

At last, I sighed. “All right. I’ll look for him and see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” Solas answered with a slight inclination of his head. “I am sure it will be to everyone’s benefit, not just Cole’s.”

I gave a final nod to show my understanding, and with that, I left the rotunda at last. And I felt more than a little ill at ease as I sensed Solas’s gaze on my back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	34. Chapter 34

_Bloody wonderful…_

What had begun as a moderately good day was swiftly deteriorating; my cheerful mood, boosted by my pleasant interactions with Cullen, Leliana, and Dorian, was evaporating like mist in the morning sun.

First, Solas now had very clear confirmation from yours truly that I couldn’t and had never dreamed in Thedas, and therefore, I was neither actively nor passively in the Fade while I slept. Furthermore, he also suspected that both my inability to dream and Cole’s inability to see or read my thoughts were actually connected in some way. And even though those things in and of themselves didn’t seem too terrible at first, I had a gut feeling they had a great chance of making Solas even more suspicious of me than he probably already was.

I was certain Solas had made a point of letting me know in not-so-subtle language that he hadn’t yet found me during his dreamwalks, and that part of our discussion alone bothered me _a lot_. Had he really been looking for me in particular on those little mental sojourns? Perhaps with hopes of finding out something more about me that he could use to his advantage? Or did he suspect I would be more vulnerable to his influence in dreams and thus more liable to reveal what I knew about _him_ in greater detail?

Either way, I couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion that I was being hunted by the Dread Wolf. I felt very much like a prey creature that could sense its enemy stalking it, and yet couldn’t detect where or how it might strike.

Second, it seemed Cole was now bound and determined to drive himself into a metaphorical hole in a desperate attempt to try and understand me and why he couldn’t read my mind like he could everyone else. If Solas was concerned about the spirit’s well-being enough to bring it up to me, then there was a great chance Cole really _was_ walking a dangerous path. I needed to intercept him before it was too late.

Or, at least, Solas made it _seem_ like I was the one who had to do it. Part of me wondered why he couldn’t talk with the spirit again himself, and I halfway felt like he was foisting the responsibility for Cole’s welfare off on me. But, then again, perhaps he thought Cole would only ultimately take my word for it.

Bent on finding the spirit, I headed straight out of the main hall and down the keep stairs. There, bounding up the steps right towards me, was a rather giddy-looking Sera, holding a battered steel bucket and what looked to be several bars of our plain soap. She didn’t seem at all concerned about what someone might think about her burden or where she was headed with it. Her pace was unchecked and her gaze focused only ahead, as if it were perfectly normal for someone to be almost jogging up to the throne room with an empty bucket, soap, and a mischievous grin on her face.

Knowing her rather strong feelings regarding the Forgotten Boy, my gut told me she knew _exactly_ where he was. There was no way she wouldn’t be keeping tabs on him…if only for the sole purpose of staying well away from him.

Pausing on the stairs and hoping she would speak to me, I asked, “Sera, have you seen Cole?”

She halted in her tracks, one foot on a step higher than the other, squinting up at me and holding her free hand over her eyes while her grin melted away. I wasn’t entirely sure how she would react to being asked a question so suddenly, and especially not by me; she and I hadn’t really talked since the events at Haven. I was sure she still didn’t like me too much.

“What, that _thing_?” she said, visibly shuddering as though someone had dropped ice down the back of her tunic. “ _Uuuugh._ Shouldn’t even _be_ here,” she muttered, before adding with a resigned shrug, “Yeah, and I wish I hadn’t. Last saw it over by the barracks. Or what they’re using as a barracks. Dunno why you’d want to go looking for it though. Friggin’ creepy, it is.”

“Creepier than me?” I asked with a smirk.

“ _Pshh_ ,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “You’re just weird. He’s creepy _and_ weird…and stuff,” she added, trailing off as she glanced away. “Right, can I go?” She asked, her tone a childish whine as she bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet.

“That’s all I wanted to know, yes,” I said with a nod, somewhat amused at her response.

“Great!” she replied, her expression immediately brightening again. “See you around, Weirdy!”

And with that, she was off, racing past me and into the keep with a mad giggle that rang ominously on the stones.

I had a sinking feeling someone was in for a very unpleasant surprise…

Sighing heavily, I descended fully into the upper courtyard. Construction on the Herald’s Rest had finally been completed that morning, although the sign had yet to be painted and hung over the doorway. Despite that small detail, the place was already full of patrons – both guests and Inquisition members alike. I made a mental note to drop by sometime later to see it for myself. For now, though, I had a mission to complete.

I continued on, skirting around Cassandra’s personal training area and going farther to the barracks tower. The base of it would later become the haunt of the new quartermaster once all the troops were accommodated elsewhere. I paused just outside the door, looking around for my target companion. Of course, I couldn’t see any sign of the Forgotten Boy anywhere. He was most likely hidden by invisibility for now, waiting until the moment he was needed.

“Cole?” I asked tentatively.

Nothing answered me but the twitter of a pair of birds flying over the battlements, the flap of canvas banners, and a gust of frigid mountain air.

I cast my gaze upwards over the fallen roof of the future surgeon’s wing and over to the ramparts, where two guards passed each other on their patrol routes.

“Cole?” I repeated, a little louder this time.

“Yes?”

I whirled. He was quite suddenly right behind me, standing with his head tilted towards the ground, so all I could see of his head was his massive hat.

“Oh, uh,” I pulled my hands behind my back as I tried to recover from being startled. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you so I could talk with you for a minute. Solas tells me you’ve been quite busy.”

He looked up slowly, ghostly blue eyes sharp under the shadowed brim of his hat. “Yes. There are so many sounds of suffering here, even at Skyhold. So many to help. It helps me to help them. It’s…not so bad.”

“I think it’s a good thing you’re helping so many,” I said. Even if it was a rather unsettling way to go about it.

“That’s what Solas says,” Cole replied quietly.

“He also says you’re having a little trouble with me,” I continued. “He tells me you’re trying to find a way into my mind.”

“I am,” he said. “I want to help. But…it’s like looking into nothingness. The silence sits, heavy and hard. It feels wrong. It shouldn’t be there.”

I sighed, wondering how to put this so it would prevent further direct inquisitiveness.

“I know I already told you, but…it’s because of where I’m from. That’s it.” I shrugged. “I’m just not like everyone else here. I really don’t know how or even if I _could_ change it.” I paused, watching as he stood very still, listening. “I really appreciate the sentiment, Cole. I understand you want to help me, too. And that’s wonderful. It really is,” I tried to reassure him, smiling a little. “But maybe if you want to help me, you should look to the people around me instead, since you’re having trouble with your usual method.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well,” I began, “I talk to a lot of people here. Some of them more than others, but everyone knows at least a little bit about me and my life. I don’t know how it would work, exactly, but…maybe through their thoughts, you could find out how to help me, a bit. Maybe if they think about what I’ve shared with them, or…” I trailed off, not knowing what else to add. Then, after a moment, I suggested, “Or, maybe you could just talk to me once in a while yourself. Poking around in other people’s heads is a little more invasive than a regular conversation, and it’s less likely you’d have to make people forget if you say the wrong thing. But anyway,” I shrugged, already exhausted from this conversation and hoping he was getting the message, “sometimes the answer to a problem isn’t as direct as you might think. Sometimes you have to find a way around a rock instead of trying to go through it.”

Silence. Then...

“If I go around, will it help?”

I resisted the urge to show my irritation. _Stubborn indeed_.

“Yes, Cole. It will,” I said simply.

“All right.”

And then, just as quickly as he had appeared, he vanished, leaving me alone again in the corner of the upper courtyard.

\------------------------------------------------------

Hoping against hope I had averted disaster with Cole, I turned back and headed towards the Herald’s Rest to see the newly renovated establishment for myself. I could tell from the sounds of her lute lilting brightly over the lower hum of the patrons inside that Maryden had already relocated there. The door was propped open with an old brick, and the smell of ale, fresh bread, and some sort of seasoned meat wafted through the air several feet from the entrance. The atmosphere radiating from the place was warm and inviting. Peeking inside, I could see that a great many people had already been lured within by that irresistible siren’s song.

Cabot, the recently-hired publican who was now in charge of this lovely establishment, had his hands full at the bar, a crowd of off-duty soldiers standing around and waiting to get their drinks. Deciding against adding my own person to that hellacious line, I glanced around at the other patrons sitting at various rustic tables and chairs around the common room.

It was then I saw Iron Bull waving to get my attention from the far corner. Grinning widely, I headed his way, a voice in the back of my head reminding me of his gift that was still in the satchel at my side.

“Hey, Tamsyn,” he greeted me as I slid into the chair opposite him. “Not a bad place, eh?”

“Not bad at all,” I agreed, looking around again. My eyes fell upon the queue at the bar again, and I cringed. “Although there’s no way I’m waiting in that line for anything.”

“You want my extra ale?” he asked. He already held one tankard in hand, but another sat untouched at his elbow. He pushed it my way with the heavy sound of metal scraping against wood. “I can get another later. They’re less likely to shove me around than they are you.” He chuckled after that last statement, and his tone was very nearly wicked, before raising his drink to his lips and watching me over the rim.

After a moment’s hesitation, I shrugged, feeling it polite to accept his generous offer. “Who am I to say no to free ale?” I said, taking the heavy tankard by the handle and peering into it. Part of me was a little wary about having yet another alcoholic beverage; after all, I’d already had a drink with Dorian, and it was stronger than what we usually had with meals, including the newest shipment of ale that had arrived within Skyhold’s walls. But as I saw the paleness of the brew within, I began to suspect it was even more heavily watered down than usual…

As if reading my thoughts, Bull added, “Just a fair warning: it tastes like piss. Between the low stock of kegs and Cullen not wanting his troops to get smashed on their off hours, it can barely be called ale at all. That’ll probably change later, though, once we get a regular supply of the stuff. And something other than ale.”

He then pushed a plate next to the wall towards me. It was half-filled with a thick loaf of crusty white bread, a thick slab of cheese, and what looked to be a couple of-

_Oh, naturally._

“By the way,” he said, and I knew what he had to be thinking as he spoke. “You gotta try the sausage.”

I pressed my lips together as I tried not to laugh aloud. “And how did I not foresee _you_ of all people working _sausage_ into this conversation, Bull?”

His one eye glittered with mischief. “So you know a lot about me and sausage, do you?”

I glared at him, to which he responded with another chuckle, this time more lighthearted. To avoid the picture that would result by me eating the sausage whole from the end, I took the knife originally intended for slicing the cheese and cut off a circle of meat instead. That act alone caused Bull to guffaw heartily, slapping the table with loud _smacks_ of his hand on the surface.

“What?”

He shook his horned head. “You thought about that _really_ hard, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t have to,” I quipped, lifting the small piece between two fingers as I examined it. “Because yes, I do already know about you and sausage, Iron Bull.”

“Ha!” he barked. “That’s great!”

I popped the little slice of meat into my mouth, chewed tentatively, and then had to resist the urge to groan aloud at the taste.

It was made of _beef_. After months of eating naught but ram-related concoctions, with only the very recent addition of boar to my diet, I knew immediately what it was. And I hadn’t realized just how much I missed it until I had been without it for so long.

_What I wouldn’t give for a decent hamburger._

“ _Ohmigod_ ,” I said when I finally swallowed. “I can’t believe it’s _not ram_.”

“I know, right?” Bull said, taking one of the sausages for himself. “I had a talk with Cabot. They came in on a cart from farther east. One of those special orders Josephine made. Don’t know how much of the stuff she actually purchased, but I have a feeling it’s gonna go quick.” Half of it was gone in one bite. “Goes great with the cheese.”

I sliced off some more of my own sausage. “That’s Fereldan, too, right?”

“Yep,” he said with a nod.

“Fereldans eat well,” I remarked, before popping another little circle into my mouth.

“You should try some of the stuff from back home,” he said. “Maybe I’ll share a few recipes with our new cook.”

A few minutes of silence followed, during which we finished off the sausages, and then he asked, “By the way, Josephine ever tell you when that cocoa would be here?”

I nodded, sipping at my ale. “She sent out the request not long after you talked to her about it, I think. But I don’t know when it’s going to be here, no.”

He frowned. “Damn.”

We shared the rest of the plate, splitting the bread and cheese and finishing our drinks. It was then I thought it an appropriate time to give Bull his gift.

“So, Bull…”

“Hmm?”

“I, uh, got you a present,” I said with a grin, reaching for my satchel.

“A present?” He repeated, brows rising. “Really? What for?”

“In the spirit of the season,” I replied. “I know you probably don’t look at Satinalia like everyone else around here does, but…I wanted to get you a little something anyway.” I withdrew the steel flagon from my bag and held it out to him. “Tada!”

His mouth dropped open. “Oh, man!” he breathed as he took the tankard gingerly, like it was made of blown glass. “ _Look_ at this thing.” He pressed his thumb to the lever atop the handle and watched as the lid popped open. “And it’s got a cover and everything. That is _awesome_!”

“Made by the dwarves, too. You like it?”

“I love it!” he nodded emphatically. “Krem’ll be so jealous. I’m gonna use it for everything.” Then, he suddenly raised a finger as if he remembered something. “Oh, speaking of jealous…I just got word from the Chargers this morning. Apparently, they found that Envy demon gallivanting around the countryside. They finally managed to put it down, but not until it gave them a good show, first. I gave the details to Red if you want to know more.”

“All right, I’ll talk to her,” I replied. “I’ll see her…” I trailed, and then my mouth dropped open. “Oh wait! That reminds me!” I said, straightening my satchel and jacket as I suddenly remembered my arrangement with Leliana, which would be in the next hour or so. “I’ve got archery practice with her soon. I need to go find Harritt and get some more arrows before time.” I stood. “Thanks for the drink and snack, Bull!”

“No problem, Tamsyn,” he said, his smile broad and warm. “And thank _you_ for the generous gift.”

And with that, I left the tavern for the keep’s undercroft at a quickened pace to prepare for the Nightingale’s practice session…

\------------------------------------------------------

“We need to work on your speed.”

After an hour’s worth of raining arrows onto the targets with Leliana that evening, my shoulders and back were sore again right along with my rear end. But I was actually happy. I hadn’t made a fool of myself in front of the Nightingale, and she hadn’t been displeased by my efforts. I thought I would surely look like a terrible archer next to her, but I didn’t.

Just a little inexperienced.

“And how do we do that?” I asked as I retrieved my new batch of arrows from one of the targets. They were the first refill for my quiver since Haven, and they were much sturdier than my old set. If I was lucky, I could recycle these arrows even from battle if I had to.

“Something to help your strength and stamina,” she replied, unslinging her own quiver from her back. “I still think you would do well training with Cullen’s soldiers. At least for exercises. You wouldn’t be alone, and you would have a routine already established.”

I sighed, having to admit she was right. “Good point.”

We walked back to the main hall together in silence, then. Along the way, I saw Mother Giselle out of the corner of my eye, talking with some of the children of Skyhold where they had gathered in the garden. Little Sean was among them, and he caught my gaze, waving merrily at me. I waved back, noticing with great interest that Marianne was at his side. If I had been paying attention, I would have realized the glimmer of steel in the shadows on the other side of the garden belonged to Ser Fleurice.

When we reached the entranceway of the hall at last, Leliana stopped, glancing around at the architecture. “Well, this is coming along rather nicely I think, though certainly not fast enough to suit Josie.” She smiled. “As I understand it, she wants it to be a banquet hall when the Inquisitor isn’t using it for anything.”

“It will be nothing short of grand, I’m sure,” I replied, mirroring her smile with my own.

The Nightingale chuckled at that. “Our Ambassador certainly _does_ have a propensity towards the grandiose. Tasteful, of course, but still magnificent. I think half our planned stops in Val Royeaux are to craftsmen’s halls for the sole purpose of finishing the décor of this place. Your suggestion to invite King Alistair here has only worsened Josie’s anxiety about the quality of our furnishings, I’m afraid.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “It’s a _fortress_ , not a palace.”

She laughed again. “Try telling _her_ that.”

Then, cocking her head at me, she added, “By the way, did you like the gift she got you? She was worrying herself sick over it last night, afraid you might be insulted.”

“Oh, no, I love it!” I said quickly. “I just didn’t want to wear any today because of riding and everything. Maybe I should go tell her that myself.”

“I think you should,” she replied with a nod of agreement. “That will at least put her mind at ease.”

“All right, I’ll go do that now,” I said, turning for the Ambassador’s door. “Until later tomorrow, then?”

“If not sooner,” she answered with an enigmatic smile.

And with that, we parted ways, she across the hall to Solas’s rotunda and up the stairs to her rookery, and I to Josephine’s office to speak with the Ambassador.

Within, Josephine was in a deep discussion with her accountant, and so I politely waited until the woman was dismissed before I approached her desk. I nodded respectfully to her assistant as she brushed past me, and then smiled in greeting to the Ambassador.

She smiled back. “Ah, Tamsyn. How are you this fine evening?”

“Very well, Ambassador, thank you.”

“Wonderful,” she said with a grin. “How can I assist you?”

“I just want to talk for a moment if you have the time,” I replied. “I thought I should tell you that I received your Satinalia gift.”

“Oh!” Her brows rose. “Do you like it?”

Her expression was obviously half anticipation and half trepidation.

I nodded. “I love it, Josephine, really. It’s such a sweet and thoughtful gift. Thank you!”

“Truly?” She asked. “I must admit, I was worried how you would take it.”

I shook my head. “Don’t worry, Ambassador, it’s perfect. I really do love it. And I promise you, as soon as I find an occasion to wear it, I will.”

“Perhaps our coming trip to Val Royeaux?” she suggested with a sly smile.

“That’s a good idea!” I said. “I’ll bring it with me.” Then, pulling my satchel open, I added, “And speaking of gifts, I have one for you, too.”

She sat back in her chair. “Oh, Tamsyn, you shouldn’t have.”

“I had to. I saw the perfect thing and couldn’t pass it up,” I said, withdrawing a slender black box from my bag and proffering it to her. She took it and looked over the box curiously before opening it to see what was inside. All the while I was smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed, carefully picking up the pair of long hair pins to examine their design more closely. “These are lovely!”

I grinned. “I know how you like to put your hair up, so I thought you could use something to help with that.”

“Oh, indeed, I can,” she replied with an affirmative nod. “Thank you! They are quite beautiful. I believe I shall wear them to Val Royeaux as well.” She then set the box aside and stood, holding her arms out for a hug.

I chuckled and embraced her tightly. “Happy Satinalia, Ambassador.”

“And to you as well, Tamsyn.”

\------------------------------------------------------

The following morning, I received a note from Cullen via courier. He informed me he couldn’t conduct a riding lesson that day due to schedule shifts, changes in the barracks, and the encampment development in the valley, and so I had those hours to myself, which was fine by me. The slight wobble in his normally fastidiously-neat handwriting had me a little concerned about his health, but a trip to the battlements where I could observe the tail end of the early training session alleviated much of my worry; judging from his activity level, if his withdrawals were too bad, he didn’t show it. Or they had at least eased up by that time.

The number of troops he had in the courtyard had definitely grown, and I wondered where the latest batch of recruits had come from. Seeing Cullen on his hands and knees in the dirt, enthusiastically encouraging one of these green-as-grass recruits to make it through the end of the vigorous routine, brought an unbidden smile to my face. There was a pleasant outpouring of support from the other troops, too, as when the young lad finally made it to the finish, they clapped him on the back and ruffled his hair reassuringly.

He wasn’t just building an army. He was building a family.

Satisfied Cullen was all right for the time being, I decided to use the time we would have spent riding to bond with Zaira. Perhaps the more I interacted with her, the more she would trust me, and by extension, the more she would be willing to follow my cues without objecting. And so, I headed to the stables to spend some time with my new mount.

Extensive work had been done on the building already. One aisle of stalls had been completed ahead of schedule – enough for the mounts of the Inner Circle to be properly housed along the castle wall. All that remained was a few more stalls on an opposite aisle for spare mounts, cleaning, and storage, and the whole thing would finally be enclosed as an extension of the hay barn.

I passed several horses on the way to Zaira’s stall, a couple of them sticking their noses out curiously as I walked by. There was an especially large bay draft horse I could only assume belonged to Bull, as well as a chestnut mule that might have sufficed for Varric. When I finally found my own mount, though, I noticed she had her back turned to the stall door, her muzzle stuck in her water trough.

I clucked my tongue to get her attention. “Zaira! Hey, old girl.”

She ignored me. I could tell she heard me, because her nearest ear swiveled in my direction before returning to its previous position.

“C’mon over. I’ll give you lots of pats.”

She lifted her head from the trough, but continued to stay facing away from me.

Sighing, I looked around. Maybe something else would tempt her?

In one corner, I spied a bucket of apples, and an idea struck. Walking over, I bent and picked up one of the fresh, red fruits. Then, I took the paring knife that lay nearby and began carefully cutting the apple into sections. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw several of the other horses looking at me hopefully, but no Zaira in sight. Shaking my head at her stubbornness, I walked back over to her stall with the apple slices in hand.

“Look here, Zaira. I’ve got an apple. You want an apple?”

That word seemed to spark interest at last. Over to the door she moseyed, nostrils flaring as she smelled the freshly-sliced fruit. Laying one of those slices flat on my gloved palm, I offered it to her. “Here you go…want a piece?”

Zaira nibbled the slice out of my hand with deft lips, but as I reached forward to stroke the white stripe that ran down her nose, she immediately lowered her head behind the stall door and out of my reach.

She wanted a treat, but she wanted it _her_ way.

“Oh, come on,” I grumbled. “Do you really not like me that much?”

_Crunch, crunch, crunch._

She lifted her head back up as if to seize another apple slice from my palm, but I pulled my hand back.

“No apple unless you play nice, Zaira,” I warned.

She huffed loudly in protest.

“That’s right. We have to learn to get along and be nice to each other.”

She stretched her neck out, desperately trying to get to the other apple slices. It was then I reached forward with my free hand and ruffled her cream-colored forelock. She pulled back abruptly, as if offended I had dared to touch her. Chuckling, I took another slice and offered it to her. “There you go, then. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She chomped away at the slice, this time not retreating behind the door.

We repeated that routine until the whole apple was gone; I would give her a pat on the nose, rub her forehead, or stroke through her mane, and she would get a treat between each one. She really was a pretty horse, her mane and coat shiny and her soft brown eyes bright and clear despite her age. Her muzzle hairs were getting a little grey, but that was the only sign she was older than the other horses in the stable.

At last, after the final piece of apple was gone, I stepped back, deciding to leave the old mare be for the day. It was then I noticed one large mahogany eye staring at me a few stalls down. _Dane_. I realized he must have recognized my voice and had hung his head out of the stall to see what was going on. Grinning, I walked up to the warhorse to greet him properly.

“Hey there, big guy,” I said as I approached. He gave my hands a good sniff, likely smelling the scent of fresh apple still lingering on my gloves. He then lifted his head, and I slid a little closer, wrapping my arms around his arched neck to give him a hug and several firm pats. “Commander’s not gonna be around today,” I continued, threading a few fingers through his coarse mane. “So this is all you’re getting.”

Realizing this wasn’t my horse I was spoiling, I kept my visit with Dane brief, bidding him farewell and turning to leave after only a minute or so. I found it both amusing and a little odd that I got along better with Cullen’s horse than I did my own. But perhaps, with time, Zaira would grow to be just as tolerant of me as Dane was.

As I left the stables and headed back across the courtyard, I noticed Cassandra seated at her stool outside the armory, polishing a bit of plate armor in her hands. Seeing as it was probably as good a time as any to give her the Satinalia gift I had in my bag, I began walking in her direction, hoping she wouldn’t mind some brief company. I dodged some soldiers carrying supplies along the way, quickly jogging ahead of a giant load of lumber that was being hauled towards the keep, before nearing the Seeker’s training area.

“Morning, Cassandra,” I said, waving as I approached.

She looked up from her work. “Good morning, Tamsyn. How are you doing?”

“Very well. And you, Seeker?”

“I am well,” she replied, returning her attention to her work. “Although my thoughts are troubling me as of late,” she added as I halted next to her.

“Oh?” I wondered what was bothering her. “What’s going on, if you don’t mind me asking?” I inquired, looking up at her as I sat cross-legged on the ground by her stool.

Her polishing became more vigorous. “You know about Varric and Hawke, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And I can only assume you kept their secret for a reason.”

“I did.”

The polishing stopped, and she looked up, but not at me. “I…did not react well to the news. You probably saw the evidence at Wicked Grace all those nights ago.”

I winced, remembering Varric’s brand new black eye. “I’m afraid I did.”

She huffed out a sigh, looking back down at the plate and tilting it back and forth in the light. “I know the Inquisitor took Varric on his excursion to separate us. To give us time to process what happened. And I am glad he did. I know I overreacted, as I usually do.”

I glanced at the grass. “Well, your reaction was certainly understandable.”

“Perhaps it was,” she agreed, resuming her polishing. “But I also didn’t think. I didn’t stop to understand why Varric would have protected Hawke the way he did. Just like I didn’t take the time to explain the situation when I first interrogated him.” She fell silent for a moment, and then continued, “I’ve always been told I am too brash, ever since I was in training. It seems I never learned that lesson. Varric is under the impression that I cannot comprehend the concept of civil human interaction. That I am incapable of having friends or caring about anyone beyond superficial levels. And perhaps he is right.”

Oh, dear. It seemed Varric’s biting words to Cassandra in retaliation for her harsh treatment of him had hurt her quite a bit more than she let on in front of him. Even though those words were understandable given how Cassandra had initially approached him regarding the Champion, it was also understandable how the Seeker herself felt about the matter.

“Cassandra, that’s not true,” I said after a moment. “If anything, it’s the opposite.”

Her brow furrowed as she stopped her work again. “How do you mean?”

I sighed, wondering how to start. “You’re filled to brimming with passion for everything you do. That’s what makes you act brashly. You don’t do it because you’re uncaring; you do it because you care _too much_.” I paused. “You lashed out at Varric because you’re so devoted to the Inquisition’s cause. And you have no patience for anything that gets in the way of that cause, because you see it as a hindrance…an oppositional force, even.”

She was silent for several long moments, looking into the distance. Then, at last, she replied, “I must admit, I never really thought about it that way.”

I smiled gently. “And you know what? I think that kind of devotion makes you a great friend, Cassandra.”

Her lips pressed together. “You really should join Josephine’s diplomats.”

I laughed. “I’m not bullshitting you, Cassandra. Honest. And I’d be honored to call you friend, if you’d let me.”

She smiled back at that and nodded. “I’d like that.”

Silence. She continued inspecting the piece of armor in her hands, and I looked out over the fortress’s walls at the pair of hawks – or eagles – circling far in the distance.

Then, after a moment, I asked, “So, may I ask you something, Seeker?”

“Of course.”

I sighed. “I’m afraid of getting rusty with my melee skills, and I know there are few personnel to spare for training. Do you mind if I join you for practices?”

Her brows rose as she looked down at me. “Not at all. I would very much appreciate some company other than these dummies.”

I grinned. “Thank you! Tomorrow then? Before or after the Commander’s riding lessons?”

“Oh, those,” she said, as if remembering my morning routine. “Perhaps after would be best.”

“All right,” I nodded in acquiescence. “I’ll be there.” I stood slowly. “But one more thing before I go.”

“And what is that?”

My grin grew. “It’s Satinalia, and I got you a present.”

Her brows arced high. “You did?”

“Of course I did!” I said, removing the vial of perfume from my back and handing it to her. “Happy Satinalia, Cassandra!”

Setting the armor in her lap, she took the bottle tentatively, tilting her head as she looked at it. “It is…?”

“Perfume,” I explained. “Or fragrance. Or however you call it, here.”

A faint flicker of a smile crossed her lips before she glanced up at me with slightly narrowed dark eyes. “Are you saying I smell?”

I burst out laughing, though I did worry she was being serious. I shook my head vigorously. “No, no, no! I just meant-”

“That was me teasing you,” she added flatly. “Apparently I’m not very good at it.” She then removed the top and brought the bottle to her nose, and her brows rose high again. “Oh my…that smells wonderful!” A broad smile spread across her face. “I’m not sure I will find an appropriate occasion to wear it. But I thank you for your thoughtfulness, nonetheless. It is a lovely gift.”

The corner of my mouth tugged upwards. “Oh, I think I know of an occasion or two coming up very soon…”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “Halamshiral.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, nodding knowingly. “Halamshiral.”

\------------------------------------------------------

And so, all my gifts had been given to their appropriate recipients save for two – Rylen’s belt and Maxwell’s compass. The latter would have to wait until he returned to Skyhold, and perhaps even until after Josephine, Leliana, and I returned from our trip to Val Royeaux. The following morning, just after breakfast, the Nightingale sent us messages to relay news from a letter the Inquisitor sent from the field; apparently he was finalizing his work and would be making his way back to the Frostbacks soon. He did not reveal any details regarding his meeting with Hawke’s contact or any other subsequent venture, however. He likely feared the message would be intercepted by opposing forces, just like our warning letters to the Empress had been.

After reading the Spymaster’s briefing on the situation, I decided to take a bit of a walk around the ramparts, since it was still too early for my riding lesson. Work on the castle was progressing nicely; the bridge to Cullen’s office was almost finished, and renovations on the Commander’s tower itself were complete – I spied workers moving his equipment to the tower as I meandered around the battlements towards the rear of the fortress. With most of the courtyard work done, the carpenters seemed to be shifting their focus to the Inquisitor’s tower, now, and the many rooms therein.

Activity in the courtyard appeared to be a little less excited as Satinalia week was coming to a close. Since the main hall roof had been finished and furnishings had been added to the throne room, the vast majority of the visiting nobles and other guests decided to stay there instead of out in the open. All the better for Josephine, since she wouldn’t have to venture so far to find any of the dignitaries with whom she wished to negotiate.

Unfortunately, as I continued my walk, I was too busy watching the assembling troops in the courtyard to notice someone headed right for me.

With my eyes focused elsewhere, I accidentally bumped into a soldier with a _smack_ , although it was apparent from the way he was apologizing that he hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going, either.

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

“Woops! Sorry, sorry!”

I glanced up to see who just who my obstacle was…

…and Rylen’s stormy eyes looked back down at me.

“Rylen!”

“Tamsyn!”

We both took a breath. Then Rylen jerked his thumb at the tower behind him and grinned devilishly. “ _Ahem_ …garderobe.”

I blinked.

“Oh, for the love of… _RYLEN I SWEAR TO THE MAKER ABOVE!_ ” I yelled, swatting at him with both hands while he put up is arms defensively. “You did that on purpose!”

“I didn’t!”

“You did!”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t, honest!”

“You’re doing a damn good job of proving otherwise!”

He smirked. “I’m not the one with a privy problem, lass.”

“Oh really?”

“Really!”

We both stopped, glaring at each other, but fighting to keep from bursting out laughing at the same time. At last, neither of us could hold it in any longer. We laughed and laughed until tears leaked out of the corners of our eyes and we were doubled over, clutching at our stomachs.

Finally, I managed to pant out. “Dear… _God_ …is this some sort of fated thing or what?”

He wiped his eyes. “Oh yes, lass, we’re forever cursed to see each other at the privy.”

I snorted. “That sounds so much worse than what you meant.”

We burst out laughing again, leaning against the merlons for support. We were laughing so much, I was certain the nearby patrols would think we had lost our minds. When we at last recovered enough to speak like human beings, Rylen shook his head and remarked, “You know…I’m just going to start expecting to run into you, and then maybe I won’t _actually_ run into you.”

“Same,” I agreed, “I’ll just be on the lookout for you, and then perhaps it won’t happen at all.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

The both of us nodded once each, then, as if we’d made some sort of pact with each other.

Rylen chuckled. “Been a while since we talked, isn’t it? How’ve you been? Life in the castle treating you well?”

I shrugged. “Well enough. Been busy with training lately, but it’s not so bad.” I frowned, my seat still feeling bruised. “Well, unless you want to count the sore backside.”

Rylen nodded in understanding. “That’s right, the Commander’s been teaching you how to ride,” he observed. “You’ll be going out for another lesson again soon?”

“Yeah, maybe in an hour,” I replied, glancing back over to the courtyard where the troops were exercising. Then, returning my attention to the Knight-Captain, I asked, “What about you? Everything going all right?”

He sighed. “Aye, it’s all right. Been dealing with a few louts at the barracks, but that’s to be expected. I’m hoping that will die down once we get the camp set up. Some new recruits from the Marches arrived a couple of days ago. It’ll be a long time until they’re field material, but we can’t exactly turn away good hands right now. All in all, I’d say it’s been a good Satinalia week for the army.”

Ah, the fortuitous mentioning of the holiday.

“Speaking of which,” I said, opening my satchel and withdrawing his gift, which at the moment just appeared to be a bundle of folded leather. “Happy Satinalia, Knight-Captain!”

He took it with eyes wide in surprise. “Well, what’s this? You got me a present?”

“I did,” I said with a nod. “Go on, take a look.”

He slowly unfolded the gathered leather until it revealed itself as a thick belt with pouches, complete with its knife and scabbard. He looked it over, passing a finger over the details, and whistled. “Now this is _nice_. Look at this…this is Antivan leather tooling, aye?”

“It sure is.”

He nodded, seemingly suitably impressed. “This is quite the lovely gift, Tamsyn. Thank you very much,” he said at length. “I’ll make good use of it, that I promise you. Tell you what,” he added, poking at the worn weapons belt at his waist, “I’m going to go to the barracks to swap this old thing out for it right now.”

I grinned. “Go for it, Knight-Captain.”

“Thanks again, and a Happy Satinalia to you, Tamsyn.”

“Thank you, Ser.”

And with that I watched him pass by, headed towards the barracks tower. Then, taking a breath, I began my walk back around the ramparts towards the stables to prepare myself for that day’s riding lesson.


	35. Chapter 35

The next few days passed by in a blur.

While the rest of the castle wrapped up Satinalia week, culminating in a day of loud celebration filled with singing and dancing, the Inner Circle and I focused on other matters entirely. My mornings initially consisted of two training routines, first with Cullen and then with Cassandra. The former, however, was forced to bring my riding lessons to a premature end after the second day, as his ever-increasing work with the barracks and growing rosters had to take precedence. Even though I was doubtful, Cullen reassured me that I knew the basics well enough I didn’t need him anymore for guidance, anyway. All that remained to help me become a better rider, then, was simple experience.

And a stronger relationship with Zaira, of course.

As for the soldiers themselves, the construction of the encampment in the valley was well underway, and the castle guards had been shifted to the newly-finished barracks in the main keep, thus giving them more breathing room, as well as fully emptying what would now become the quartermaster’s station. The relocation of the rest of the troops to the camp below allowed the Commander and Knight-Captain Rylen to move their training locale to the valley proper, instead of occupying valuable space in the courtyard both morning and afternoon. I would miss watching and hearing the troops train with their leaders, but I realized it was a necessary adjustment to life at Skyhold, especially considering the marked increase in foot and mounted traffic going to and from the fortress.

And so, my early hours spent with Cullen were, sadly, done.

My work with Cassandra, on the other hand, was just getting started.

The Seeker was less of a vocal trainer than Delia had been; she preferred to show, rather than tell. This became evident following the third time I landed on my ass on the hard ground after she performed the exact same block maneuver she had two times before. I had to admit, the pain that accompanied every repeated mistake of mine made it much more likely I would remember exactly what I had done wrong.

Still, I was learning, and that was a good thing. Cassandra was also a very different warrior than Delia as far as technique was concerned, and it was good to be exposed to another style of fighting. Sparring with the Seeker thus served as a valuable reminder that not every foe was the same, with the same training or the same experiences behind their strategies. This shakeup forced me to think on my feet, and I was grateful that Cassandra had agreed to help me hone my skills.  I was also thankful for the opportunity to simply spend more time with her, as that was something I hadn’t really had the chance to do at Haven. Perhaps it would better enable me to turn my offer of friendship into something genuine.

The highlight of my afternoons, then, became archery practices with Leliana, who gave me tips on how to better fire with both speed _and_ accuracy, instead of just one or the other. In a surprisingly short amount of time, I picked up several tricks just by watching her, and this, along with her instruction, already made me feel like a better markswoman. Of course, all that could change very quickly in an actual battle situation, which I honestly hoped I’d never have to endure again, despite the fact I knew I probably would.

Lea had been increasingly busy with Satinalia work. Though, when the celebrations finally drew to a close, she was immediately drawn to other tasks elsewhere in the castle – namely, the start of furnishing and decorating of the rooms in the Inquisitor’s tower. Josephine had hired several more staff members to aid with maintenance and restoration, but it still wasn’t quite enough to handle both the day-to-day operation of the keep _and_ the continued reconstruction efforts. Thus, the most I saw of my elven friend in those days was the day she helped me pack my belongings for the journey to Val Royeaux, which would begin the following morning.

Josephine had advised against bringing my Fereldan dress, and even though it was probably the most comfortable thing I owned, I understood why she suggested I not do so. So, I instead packed my tunic and trousers as a backup outfit, along with my nightgown for sleepwear. I would wear my uniform to the capital, plus my shortsword and dagger in case I needed them for self-defense. My other weapons and my breastplate I would leave behind at Skyhold per Leliana’s instruction. Between both her and Cullen’s arrangements, the Nightingale didn’t believe those items were necessary for me to bring along, and I agreed with her assessment that they would really be more of a hindrance to me than an asset.

Judging from the way I felt and my rough calculations, another monthly cycle couldn’t be too far away, and so I stocked back up on elfroot potions and packed those, too, along with a handful of spare rags. As I promised Josephine, I stuffed my makeup box in my bag, too, and I also decided to bring the Orlesian play she had gifted me to read during the long carriage ride. Everything, miraculously enough, all fit in my one old backpack, so I wouldn’t have to take my satchel with me. All the better, in my opinion; I didn’t want to be physically encumbered with too much extra baggage on this trip. It would be difficult enough to endure without it.

Unfortunately for us, the carriage Josephine had hired would not come to Skyhold. Apparently, it was far more delicate of a vehicle than the sturdy wagons the merchants and farmers drove to the castle, and thus the combination of the poor winter weather and the rough terrain of the mountains would not permit it to be pulled all the way to the fortress’s gates. So instead, the driver had arranged to meet up with us a few miles outside of Halamshiral, roughly a two day ride from the mountains if we pushed hard enough.

Thus, our initial departure from Skyhold was on horseback, wrapped up in heavy fur-lined cloaks and thick scarves.

We were not alone on our sojourn, of course. Cullen sent a handful of guards with us, along with two Templars – Ser Lysette and Ser Belinda Darrow – in case we ran into any Venatori mages or demons along the way. We were to meet up with another small unit at a camp not far from our rendezvous point, and then the whole escort would take us on to Val Royeaux.

Leliana didn’t let us waste any time. The day of our departure, we left before dawn.

It was a fairly miserable ride. The weather had turned from clear and dry to overcast and wet, and it got worse the farther down the mountains we went. I wasn’t sure which was worse – the extreme, bitter dry cold of the peaks, or the sloppy slushy cold of the lower valleys. Both required us to pull our scarves over our mouths and noses just so we could have a small filter between the frigid outside air and our lungs.

On top of that, I rode behind Josephine and Leliana, sandwiched between Lysette and Belinda, the latter of whom insisted on chatting with her fellow Templar regardless of the fact I was in the way. This resulted in me leaning forward or backwards for politeness’s sake, so that Belinda would have a clear line of sight to her friend. Naturally, this caused Zaira to show her ass, either speeding up until she nearly ran right into the rump of Josie’s mount, or slowing down until she almost caused the soldiers behind us to ram right into her.

The Ambassador rode a Taslin Strider like Zaira – a lovely little perlino mare with delicate features. But unlike Zaira, her horse had a sweet and obedient disposition. Rosa, I thought her name was. Leliana, on the other hand, was mounted atop a larger bay Fereldan Forder gelding called Rum. He, too, was nothing but obedient to his rider, which made me look doubly incompetent astride the ever-obstinate Zaira.

And so, the moment we met up with the carriage was not a moment too soon.

It looked like something out of a movie, Baroque in design, with four horses pulling it. When I first saw it, I thought it as a little overdone for long journeys across the Empire. But, then again, almost everything in Orlais was overdone in some form or fashion. The important thing was that it provided a much-needed respite from traveling in the saddle, and after spending two days pushing Zaira down, down, _down_ into the rolling foothills of Orlais, it was a sight for sore eyes. We abandoned our mounts at the camp, and while they would be taken back to Skyhold, we would continue on.

When we did, my menses finally hit.

Lucky for me, the seats of the carriage were soft and plush, and there was quite a bit of leg room inside. Thus, as long as I kept taking my elfroot potions, I wasn’t that uncomfortable. Also in my favor was the fact Josephine and Leliana both were very quiet for much of those first few days, still immersed in their paperwork, even though they were far away from their headquarters. They had brought along a great deal of prior correspondence with them to catch up on, as well as a pair of ravens for sending reply messages. Thus, they continued important communications while we traveled, and I kept myself occupied by reading.

Leliana also kept in touch with her scouts along the way. While Cullen’s escort remained in the immediate vicinity to protect the carriage, the Nightingale’s agents ventured farther afield. They traveled ahead of us and in a larger radius to provide advance warning to the troops in case there were nearby enemies or other problems that might hinder our progress. Thanks to Dennet’s stock, everyone rode horses, and so they had no troubles keeping up with the carriage’s decently fast clip.

Our driver, apparently a friend of Josie and Leliana, pushed the horses hard to keep up with the Nightingale’s strict schedule. Despite the fact this journey to the capital was a bit of a vacation for us, we still had a world to save. There was business to complete and alliances to cement, all for the advancement of the Inquisition. As such, the driver demanded a grueling pace from the beasts pulling our weight, and the exhausted animals had to be switched out at several points along the route. Thus, it seemed Orlais had the framework for a decent stagecoach system set up. It made perfect sense, of course, considering how far across the Empire some nobles had to travel, and by certain deadlines.

We followed what remained of the Imperial Highway wherever possible, which helped to speed us along. Much of it was in surprisingly good condition. There _were_ portions of the Highway that had fallen into disrepair, however, and had yet to be restored. In these areas, we were forced to take other established main roads, which often resulted in less smooth travel. Making matters worse were the muddy conditions, even on cobbled routes. Winter in Orlais seemed to be very wet and cold, snowing regularly at the southernmost reaches of the Empire, closer to the Frostbacks, and then raining and sleeting closer to the capital. This made for especially miserable camping conditions, which we had to endure every evening when the carriage finally stopped traveling for the day.

I bore it all as gracefully as I could, given my condition. And when night fell each day and left me alone in a tiny tent on a tiny bedroll, with Inquisition soldiers standing watch against our enemies, I reminded myself that this situation was only temporary.

\------------------------------------------------------

When we finally reached a day’s ride from Val Royeaux, the anticipation of arrival seemed to make Josie and Leliana much chattier than they had been so far. Paperwork abandoned at last, they began animatedly discussing our arrangements in the city…

“I cannot _wait_ to see the look on Madame Guillerose’s face when you walk in the door,” Josephine said as she spoke to Leliana. “Especially when she realizes you haven’t changed your hairstyle in ten years.”

The Nightingale, who had her hood down for once, fluffed the back of her short ginger bob and frowned. “It’s a good hairstyle. Why should I change it?”

“Perhaps because it is so terribly drab?”

“It is _not_ drab!”

Leliana, who was sitting on the cushioned bench next to me, directly across from the Ambassador, glanced sideways in my direction. “Is it, Tamsyn?”

Unwilling to get myself tangled up in this argument, I simply shook my head. “No, it’s not.”

Josephine’s lips pressed together as she glanced my way. “You’re just saying that because you fear retaliation from her.” The Ambassador crossed her legs and clasped her hands in her lap, turning back to Leliana. “I, however, do not.”

“And perhaps you should,” the Nightingale remarked, smirking as she made a scissoring gesture with her fingers at Josie.

The Ambassador’s mouth dropped open, and her hands went protectively to her usual braided updo. “Don’t you _dare!_ ”

Of course, I knew Leliana would do no such thing to Josephine’s hair, but it was obvious she took a great amount of pleasure in teasing her friend mercilessly.

At last, though, the spymaster sighed. “All right, I’ll admit. I became accustomed to it during the Blight. Practicality came first, and it was just a side benefit that the cut seemed to suit me. But pray tell, what would you suggest that I do with it now? It’s too short to pull back.”

Josie shook her head in dismay. “I suppose we’ll just have to wait until it grows out. And I’ll have to hide all of your shears when it does.”

“Me, on the other hand,” I said, pulling a strand of my hair around to look at its dry and scraggly ends. “I really need a trim.”

“Hmm…perhaps we can arrange that while we’re here,” Josephine mused.

“Oh, yes!” Leliana agreed far too enthusiastically. “And even have it properly styled. Those waves and curls deserve better.”

I was about to ask what exactly they had in mind when a loud caw announced the arrival of one of Leliana’s ravens. It perched on the ledge of the open window on her side of the carriage, bearing a message tied to its leg.

“This one’s from Skyhold,” Leliana remarked as she untied the note. The bird instantly flew off, indicating it wasn’t awaiting a return message. Once she unrolled the parchment and scanned the contents, she relayed them to Josephine and me. “The Chargers have returned. I’m sure Iron Bull is pleased.”

“Oh, that is good,” Josephine observed. “And I am sure they are also glad of it. Their journey did not sound like a pleasant one.”

Relative silence fell, then, as Leliana folded the note to put in her bag with many others she had collected over the past few days. There was naught but the clopping of the horses against the cobbles of the road and the slight creak of the carriage as it rocked a bit with the movement. Then, remembering the name Josephine had dropped at the beginning of the conversation, I asked curiously, “So, who is this Madame Guillerose you’ve mentioned?”

“Oh,” Josephine leaned forward in her seat as she answered. “The Lady Ysabelle Guillerose is a very old mutual acquaintance of Leliana’s and mine. She will be hosting us in Val Royeaux.”

“She is the wealthy owner of a tailor’s guild,” Leliana elaborated. “Although that was not always so.”

“No,” Josephine agreed with a nod. “She only began amassing that wealth after the death of her much older husband. She was wed to a Chevalier nearly twice her age – an ailing man who had suffered a terrible injury in a tournament and was bedridden for the rest of his life.”

My brows rose. “That doesn’t sound like it was a favorable situation for her at all.”

“Not at first blush,” Leliana continued. “But you see, Ser Charles Guillerose had inherited a small fortune from his father that he had locked away in a treasury. This, together with his significant tournament winnings over the course of two decades, made him richer than much of the lowest nobility in the Empress’s court. And thus, in the short time they were married, his Lady Guillerose lived quite well.”

“Not only that,” Josephine added, “but he had no children, and he wasn’t capable of producing them with his wife by the time of their marriage. He left everything to her in his will: the estate and all material possessions within it, as well as every coin he had remaining.”

“Which turned out to be quite a lot, even considering how much of it had been spent on his care in his final days,” Leliana remarked.

“When Charles finally passed,” Josephine explained, “Ysabelle invested it in a local tailor’s hall that had been on the edge of bankruptcy for some years. With careful planning and some clever innovation, she singlehandedly transformed it from ruin to riches. It is now the most successful and secure guild in the city for cobblers and clothiers.”

“And this is from whom we will be obtaining our clothes for Halamshiral?” I asked.

“In addition to _many_ other things,” Josephine replied with an affirmative nod.

At that, Leliana chuckled. “Of course. Josie’s been fussing about petticoats and bloomers since before Haven fell.”

“Petticoats and bloomers are _important_ , Leliana,” Josie said pointedly.

“Yes,” the Nightingale agreed, “and so is getting Tamsyn here something to wear besides her uniform.”

I gulped.

“And what’s wrong with my uniform?” I asked.

The both of them gave me a shared look of shock that screamed _How can you honestly ask that question?_

Josie sighed. “Simply put, it is far too indicative that you are an underling, not an advisor.”

“But you signed for me to get it,” I protested.

“I did,” the Ambassador agreed. “But that was _before_ we moved to a rather permanent and easily defensible headquarters.”

“And before the Inquisition became quite so prominent politically,” Leliana added. “The uniform _is_ official, but it is more like something you would wear as an envoy on business abroad, not at the castle.”

“You need something far more suited to hosting nobility at dinners and teas and soirees…events that will occur much more frequently in the near future,” Josephine said.

I swallowed hard at that. Why did I feel like I was about to become a living paper doll for these two’s fashion whims?

“We can’t forget the Inquisitor, either,” Leliana continued. “He hasn’t a decent coat to his name.”

“You did remember to bring his measurements with you too, yes?”

“Of course. I got them from Harritt before we left, along with those of everyone else in his circle of companions.”

“Excellent.”

The rest of their conversation dissolved into naught but a hum in my ears as the tiniest ball of dread knotted up in the pit of my stomach. Part of me understood where Leliana and Josephine were coming from, but still. I had a bad feeling I was going to end up arguing with them about fashion choices, and probably in front of our host. Maybe even _with_ our host, too, before it was over. I wasn’t about to subject myself to crazy Orlesian trends or ridiculous necklines just to keep the peace.

_I should’ve stayed at Skyhold…_

\------------------------------------------------------

Val Royeaux was _big_. Really, really big.

By the time we reached the capital of the Orlesian Empire, the weather had cleared up at last, allowing us a grand view of the metropolis in the distance straight ahead of our carriage. The buildings sprawled outwards for what seemed like miles, though the highest concentration of them was clustered right on the edge of the western end of the Waking Sea. A few more grandiose structures punctuated the cityscape like bright monuments, including the Imperial Palace, home of the Empress; the Grand Cathedral, seat of the Divine; the White Spire, former headquarters of the Templar Order; the imposing fortress of the Seekers of Truth; the illustrious University of Orlais; and the famed Academie des Chevaliers. These landmarks Leliana kindly pointed out to me through the windows during our long approach to the Sun Gates. All were proof positive that Val Royeaux was the center of Orlesian and Andrastian life.

As corrupt as that center was.

The whole city glimmered. Or at least, it appeared to. The moisture from the past days’ rain had yet to evaporate, and that, on top of the gilded domes and spires peppered here and there, made everything sparkle in the sun. Marble mansions, draped with colorful banners in hues of scarlet and gold, were nestled in between multi-story plaster-walled complexes painted in equally brilliant colors. It was a feast for the eyes already, and we hadn’t yet ridden within the walls.

Cullen’s escort had long parted company with us, at Leliana’s request, so as to avoid attracting too much attention. I had no doubt, however, that the Nightingale had agents set up ahead of us, just in case. Josephine let the driver know our specific destination as we drew nearer to the gates, and so we wouldn’t have to leave the safety of the carriage until we were right on Lady Guillerose’s doorstep. This was fine by me; despite the fact my period was all but over, I still didn’t feel like walking too much. I could see enough from the windows, anyway.

And smell enough, too.

The first thing that hit me when we finally pushed past the main gates was the distinct aroma of the city, detectable even past the walls of the carriage. Judging from the stench, Val Royeaux hadn’t been blessed with Tevinter’s ancient indoor plumbing. Or, at the very least, the vast majority of it hadn’t. What assaulted my nostrils with nose-hair-curling ruthlessness was a combination of human waste, sweat, fresh bread, smoke, fish, saltwater, mold, dye, horses, and perfume. Not necessarily in that order.

It had never seemed that bad even in the most urban areas I’d been to back home. Or maybe it was just because I’d been living in crystal clear mountain air for the past few months.

I must have subconsciously wrinkled my nose and curled my lip at the odor, because Josephine said with a slight laugh, “You’ll get used to it, Tamsyn.”

“It also isn’t this bad everywhere,” Leliana added.

Sure it wasn’t.

The next thing I became aware of was just how _loud_ the city was. The streets were filled with a constant low roar, making the air seem _alive_ with the noise that varied only slightly depending on what district one was in: horses clopping, people talking, hammers banging, saws grinding, wheels rattling…whistling, humming, singing, laughing, clattering, clashing. There were also people everywhere, their outfits and masks almost as loud as the noise, and many of them stopped to watch the carriage pass them by. More than once, we had to slow down because of pedestrians in the way.

The racket and crowding at Skyhold was _nothing_ compared to this.

_I hate this already._

After a few minutes of riding, though, things did seem to get a little better. We must have entered a more residential district at last, because there were fewer people on the streets, and the walkways and flora seemed to be designed more for privacy than mere decoration. The various odors receded, and the sound of the city was reduced to a buzzing hum instead of an outright roar.

And then, finally, the carriage pulled to a halt.

“Here we are!” Josephine said as she looked out of the window, a note of excitement in her voice.

I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

As the driver opened the carriage door and helped us out onto the yet-damp cobbles, Josie addressed him, “Thank you again, Pierre. Will you be taking us back as well?”

“ _Non_ , Ambassador,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Luc will. Two days from today, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Of course. I will remind him.”

And with that, after we collected our bags and began walking towards the estate gates, Pierre quickly jumped back up into the seat and drove away.

It was then I got the first good look at our temporary residence.

A little larger than the average Val Royeaux mansion, Lady Guillerose’s home sat on a sizeable lot, which I estimated was roughly four acres including the house itself – a generous plot, given the cramped nature of the city. The entirety of her land was bordered by a tall, wrought-iron fence, closed by the massive gate in front of us. The lawn was flat – brown because of the season – with a gravel rock pathway leading from the gate to the main entrance. Meticulously trimmed evergreen hedges and topiaries bordered the fence and the house proper. At the center of the path to the mansion itself had been situated a large fountain. A statue of what appeared to be Andraste, with her arms held aloft and her palms lifted upwards, rose from the middle, the water slowly trickling from her eyes as though she were weeping and puddling in the bowl of the fountain around her feet.

As for the house itself, it was a three-story structure in the typical Royan style, with columns on each level of the front façade and a widow’s walk around the level roof. The smooth walls sported bright, sky blue plaster, and the huge and numerous windows were all embellished with fanciful gilded molding in swirling floral patterns, top and bottom. Had it not been so similar to many of the other residences in its vicinity, it could very well have passed for a miniature palace or a museum.

The gates were open, indicating visitors were welcome, and so the three of us proceeded to follow the walkway to the double front doors, where two masked guardsmen stood watch. Josie was the first to climb the few steps of the portico, and so she was the one who addressed the guards.

“We are here to visit Lady Guillerose. She should be expecting us.”

“Right,” one of the guards replied, half-turning and rapping his armored knuckles on one of the doors’ red painted surface. “ _Lucien!_ Guests!”

Not five seconds later, that door opened to reveal a masked elf of lithe stature. He wore a rather luxurious-looking waistcoat of burgundy velvet, black knee breeches, and golden hose. His half-mask was also burgundy, golden roses painted along the top edge, and his long, straight black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail.

“You are Inquisition, yes?” he asked in an almost bored tone. He was only the second elf I’d heard with an Orlesian accent, the first being Fiona.

“We are,” Josephine replied. “But we are old acquaintances of Lady Guillerose. Simply tell her Josephine and Leliana are here.”

“Of course, madame. Do come inside.”

Leliana and I then followed Josephine into the mansion’s foyer as the butler disappeared into a side room beyond another set of double doors. After the guards closed the entryway behind us once more, I looked up and around at my new surroundings. As expected, the lady’s house was just as lavish within as it was without. Paintings and tapestries hung on the walls, and marble busts stood in the corners. Decorative molding, tiled ceilings, and gilt chandeliers drew the eyes upwards. Massive drapery of heavy brocade adorned the windows, and thick rugs muffled our footsteps on the marble floors. The only thing that made such extravagance not seem gaudy was the limited color scheme of white and blue, punctuated here and there with red and gold.

 _Click, click, click_ , stop. _Click, click_ , stop. _Click_.

The sound of distant hard-heeled shoes against the space of marble between rugs betrayed our hostess’s quick approach. We didn’t have to wait long at all before both double doors ahead of us were thrown wide, revealing Lady Ysabelle Guillerose and her elven butler behind her.

She was a tall and heavyset woman, and this was magnified by the garb she wore. Her burgundy satin dress looked like something Marie Antoinette would have worn, with a low, square neckline, elbow-length sleeves, and a massive hoop skirt, all trimmed in black ruffles. The front of the bodice had a black velvet panel, embroidered with what appeared to be roses and songbirds in gold thread. All around the skirt were bows of the same burgundy satin as the rest of the dress, but sewn into the tie of each bow was a glittering clear crystal – or maybe even a diamond – in a gold setting. She wore a matching chandelier necklace of gold and diamonds, in a floral design similar to those on her bodice. On her hands, she wore black satin gloves, ending at her wrist in black lace, and on her feet were a pair of black pumps, decorated with golden buckles.

Despite the extravagance of this attire, however, her matching headgear stood out the most. As all native Orlesians, she wore a mask – but unlike some, hers was full Venetian style. It was divided down the center of the face by a strip of gold, and this same gold outlined the eyeholes and filled in the lips. Looking at her, the left side was burgundy, and the right was black, the left cheek sporting a painted golden rose and the right cheek a gold bird. The whole mask was trimmed in swirling gold detailing that looked not unlike the decorative molding outside her windows. Then, atop her head, sat a small tricorne hat, fashionably tilted forward over the mask. It was made of burgundy velvet and edged in black lace, with a spray of blackened peacock feathers emerging from a massive diamond brooch.

It struck me, then, that I wasn’t just looking at some random outfit she decided to wear to impress us. It was, quite literally, the manifestation of the Guillerose heraldry.

Upon seeing us standing there in the foyer, she dramatically threw her arms out wide. “Leliana! Josephine!” She greeted her friends in a booming, thickly-accented voice that rang almost painfully against the walls. Rushing forward with the swish and rustle of satin, she eagerly embraced the two women in order of address. I could still see nothing of her face but her eyes, and they were set so far back behind her mask that I couldn’t tell whether they were green or blue. I _could_ tell, however, that she must have been at least Vivienne’s age, if not older, because her wispy shoulder-length hair, pulled back and upwards, was a streaked mix of dark steel grey and bright silver.

She pushed Josephine back by the shoulders gently as she looked down at the Ambassador, who seemed almost like a child as she grinned up at the Lady. “Oh, it has been too long. Over ten years, now? How you both have changed.”

“But you are the same as ever, I am glad to see,” Leliana remarked kindly.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Lady Guillerose replied, pulling forth a delicate strand of hair. “I’m certainly a bit greyer than I once was. But if I may be so bold, I think it suits me.”

“That it does, madame!” Josephine agreed.

The Lady then turned her head towards me. “Ah, but I forget my manners. You must be Tamsyn.”

“I am, my lady,” I said with a respectful dip of my head. I wasn’t exactly sure how far up the nobility ladder she actually was, so I hoped that would suffice.

She stepped forward between the other two and proffered her hand for me to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, then. Any friend of Leliana and Josephine is a friend of mine.”

We clasped hands firmly. Then, turning around and addressing her butler, who still waited obediently by the side doors, she said, “Lucien, do fetch some soup for our guests.” As the elf nodded in understanding and disappeared once more to do his mistress’s bidding, Guillerose turned back to us and added with a beckoning gesture, “I’m sure you all must be cold and hungry after your travels. Please, come with me.”

And with that, we each exchanged glances and followed in our hostess’s wake.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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We found ourselves seated at the end of a long, polished oak dining table, with Madame Guillerose at the head. Josephine and Leliana sat across from each other nearest our hostess, while I took a fourth chair beside the Nightingale. In no time at all, a masked maidservant (garbed in simpler and less expensive clothing than Lucien, but with the same color scheme) strode in with a large silver tureen in hand, full of what appeared to be a dark broth. She set it between us, produced three bowls, and began to ladle the soup into them, quickly setting each before us. Lucien followed with a plate of uncut, hard yellow cheese and freshly-baked, crusty white bread, as well as a full bottle of wine. The elf poured us each a half-glass of the crimson vintage, and then both servants bowed respectfully before departing as swiftly as they arrived.

I glanced down at the steaming bowl in front of me, and I could already feel my stomach begin to twist in hunger. Though I prayed desperately for it not to do so, it would be just like it to growl like a bear now that the room was nearly silent. The soldier rations we’d been eating on the road were filling, sure, but certainly not as satisfying as a real meal. I struggled to hide my grimace of hunger with a smile as I held myself back, waiting for a cue from Lady Guillerose.

Interestingly enough, judging by the emptiness of her place at the table, the Lady herself wasn’t joining us for this meal. And knowing typical Orlesians, that wasn’t exactly a reassuring thought. I hoped Leliana and Josephine knew her as well as they _thought_ they did, else this situation could deteriorate rapidly…

“Please, do go ahead and enjoy,” she said with a wave of her hand, as if she had read my mind. She then clasped both gloved palms together atop the surface of the table where her own bowl might have sat. “I have already eaten this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Madame,” Josephine replied with a polite dip of her head. “You are too kind.”

“Oh, _posh_ ,” Guillerose answered dismissively. “There’s no need to be so formal, dear Josephine. You’ve been catering to foreign powers for far too long.”

Leliana chuckled her relatively silent agreement with our hostess and pushed her hood back from her head at last. Taking that as a signal, I removed my own hat and set it in my lap, smoothing my hair down where the loose strands of brushed-back bangs had stuck to the fur. I took off my gloves, too, and piled them atop my hat before carefully lifting the heavy spoon in hand. Letting my comrades take the first sips so as not to look to eager, I finally allowed myself to dip my utensil into the rich broth, gently blowing the piping hot liquid before carefully tasting it.

 _Wow_. French onion soup. It was an almost a perfect replica of what I knew from Earth. But it was _better_. Caramelized onions and a beef broth base, definitely, but with a dash of something that tasted faintly of alcohol…brandy, maybe? I wasn’t a drink connoisseur by any means, so I wasn’t entirely sure on that last one.

I just hoped it wasn’t laced with something we couldn’t taste.

“Oh, this is delicious,” Leliana remarked, reaching for the cheese knife to cut herself a piece from the larger log.

“It is _very_ good,” I agreed with a nod, unable to keep silent regardless of my lingering wariness.

“I am pleased you think so,” Lady Guillerose said cheerfully, her eyes glittering behind her mask. “I will be certain to pass along your praise to Annelise. My cook, of course. This is her recipe. A family tradition, I believe.”

We then proceeded to eat in earnest, tearing off hunks of the fresh bread and dipping it into the soup. Leliana and Josephine both engaged in small talk with Ysabelle while they ate, catching up with each other after so many years apart. Apparently, Lady Guillerose had been “worried sick” about Leliana when she caught word of the Conclave incident, and so she was quite relieved when she began hearing news of the Nightingale’s work in co-founding the new Inquisition. Surprisingly, she also hadn’t been aware that Josephine herself had joined up the Inquisition until _after_ the Breach had already been sealed.

“We have been…busy, to say the least,” Josephine explained somewhat apologetically, cutting another piece of cheese.

“Oh, there is no need to dance around it, my dear,” Lady Guillerose replied knowingly. “Half the world has heard about what happened to Haven, and thus to the Inquisition. I daresay you are lucky to be alive.” She glanced to Leliana and me. “Each of you.”

“We have Tamsyn here to thank for some of that luck,” Leliana said without looking at me as she took her wine glass in hand. “As well as our Inquisitor.”

“Yes,” Lady Guillerose said musingly, cocking her head curiously as her gaze latched onto me. In the lighting of the dining room, I was finally able to tell that her eyes really were a pale green. “I have heard so many whispered rumors about your quiet friend…Lady Tamsyn, do tell me more about yourself.”

“Oh.” I slowly sat back in my chair, scrambling for something to say. Even though our hostess was obviously a good friend of my fellow advisors, and it was evident they yet trusted her, I was still hesitant to tell her anything significant about myself. She was, after all, Orlesian. And no doubt, given her social and economic status, an avid player of the Game. I didn’t want to accidentally reveal anything that might be used against me – or the Inquisition – later on… intentionally or not on the Lady’s part.

“Well,” I said at last, my gaze latching onto the remainder of the wine in my glass. It honestly wasn’t as good as the spiced wine Dorian had shared with me during Satinalia. “I’m sorry to say that there really isn’t much worth telling, madame. I merely use what talents I have for the good of Thedas, as does everyone else in the Inquisition.” Glancing back to her masked countenance and giving her a sheepish smile, I added, “I’m afraid that neither my background nor my abilities are nearly as glorious or exciting as that of you or my fellows.”

And aside from the surviving-an-apocalypse-and-falling-into-another-world part of it, it was the truth.

Still, I could tell from the crinkle around the corners of her eyes and her subsequent reply that she had read me like an open book, regardless of my careful words: “Modest. And with a preference for privacy, I see. Very well, I will not pry,” she said, dipping her head. “Although I must say that I am not the only one who is curious about the so-called ‘Prophetess of the Inquisition.’ I am not sure whether you or the Herald of Andraste has garnered more fear in Orlesian hearts.”

 _Prophetess of the Inquisition?_ What kind of bull was that?

“I would fear the Herald and Inquisitor,” I replied simply, plucking my glass from the table. “ _He_ is the one who has foiled our enemy not once, but twice. And this I can tell you,” I said, leaning forward and meeting Ysabelle’s gaze, “He will foil him many times more than that before this is over.”

She nodded slowly as she absorbed my words. “I can only pray you are right, my mysterious friend. And that you and your fellows will guide him to victory. We can settle for no less.” She straightened in her chair, returning her gaze to Josephine. “As for myself, I promise I will do what I can to assist with that goal, even if it is nothing but providing proper attire for your people. I understand you all are here on business and not for pleasure, unfortunately.” She then glanced to Leliana. “Whenever you are ready to discuss arrangements, do let me know, and I will be more than happy to help begin drafting plans.”

“A task best left for tomorrow, I do believe,” said Josephine with a heavy sigh, fatigue evident in her tone.

“Agreed,” Leliana nodded solemnly. “It has been a long journey, and we could use proper rest before starting work.”

“Of course,” Lady Guillerose acquiesced with a dip of her head. “I will go and have baths drawn for you, and I will also instruct my servants to bring your dinners to your rooms later. The house shall be peaceful this evening, and so perhaps rest will come easily to you.”

And with that, she rose from her chair with the rustle of her skirt and bowed a little before striding from the room to seek out her staff.

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The guest quarters were on the third floor above the dining room.

After the baths had been drawn, Lucien offered to show us what would be our personal chambers during our brief stay in Val Royeaux. There were ten guest rooms in total, five on either side of a long and wide hallway, and ours were the last three on the right. As we followed the elf down the hall, our feet thudding hollowly on the hardwood, I wondered if the Lady ever hosted that many guests overnight at a time…

“Let us know if there is anything else you require, ladies,” Lucien said with a polite bow before retreating behind us to let us become acquainted with our rooms on our own.

I took the one on the end. Not surprisingly, it was much larger than the entire interior of my cabin back at Haven. There was a tall window on the far wall, draped with pale blue curtains that were currently pulled back with a golden tasseled tie to let in the bright light of day. The wall itself had also been painted a matching pale blue, with thick white crown molding bordering the white ceiling. Hanging over the center of the room and encircled by a decorative white medallion hung a short chandelier. It, like the rest of the lighting in the house, was lit with a warm orange glow, but not the glow of a fire – instead, it seemed to pulse far more steadily and with less variance in intensity, suggesting it was magical in origin. I seemed to recall reading somewhere that glowstone lights were popular in Orlais, particularly among the well-to-do. And Guillerose was nothing if not that. But that also made me wonder how she kept these lights charged with no Circle of Magi from which to hire a mage.

Against the left-hand wall was a bed, fitted with a pale blue comforter, the slightest hint of white sheets peeking out from underneath. A white vanity, complete with chair and mirror, sat across from it. Next to the bed stood a small dresser, and on the door-side wall was a matching white wardrobe, so tall it nearly reached the ceiling.

In the middle of the room, atop a fluffy white rug, had been placed a long copper tub, which was filled with steaming hot water. It beckoned to me like a siren’s call, and as soon as I set down my bag on the floor, I turned to lock the door and then quickly strode to the window to pull the curtains closed. I was very eager to wash away the grime of travel and warm my cold-and-damp-chilled bones. The soup had succeeded in warming my insides, but not my limbs…

After rummaging around in my pack for my bath supplies, I noticed a small bar of soap had been placed on the far edge of the rug. And it was _purple_ , with darker purple flecks peppered throughout. Curious, I walked over and picked it up, and instantly, my nose was filled with the scent of lavender.

Scented soap. Actually scented soap. It smelled heavenly, and I almost cried.

I wasn’t even that big a fan of lavender. At least, not before. But now I sure as hell was.

_I wonder if I can have Josephine order some for Skyhold…_

Saving that thought for later, I stripped out of my uniform, let down my hair, and tested the temperature with my foot before allowing myself to sink fully into the tub, the water rising significantly, but not to overflowing. It was _deliciously_ warm, but almost painful to my cold skin, and my feet burned and prickled a little as they became accustomed to the heat of the bathwater. A satisfied sigh escaped my lips, though, as I finally settled myself down.

It was then I noticed the tub was lined in the bottom with a double layer of soft white linen. Slightly curious as to why this was the case, since the copper was not rough like the wooden tubs to which I had grown accustomed, I lifted the edge of the cloth and peeked underneath. There, to my surprise, were two faintly-glowing runes in set into the metal, flush with the bottom. Tentatively pressing my fingers to them, I realized they were just warm enough to keep the water from cooling, but also a tad too hot to keep direct contact with.

That explained it, then. The cloth was protection against potential burns from the heating runes – an indulgence that the average citizen most certainly could not afford, just like the glowstones in the chandeliers. I briefly wondered if Lady Guillerose had permanently hired a mage or Tranquil on her staff in order to keep these arcane elements charged and ready for use…

Leaning against the back of the tub and sinking a little further in the water, I allowed myself to simply bask in the luxurious experience for a moment, immensely grateful for the generosity of our wealthy hostess and thus my own good fortune. There was no better feeling after a week of miserable winter travel than treating oneself to a long, hot bath. This one was, without a doubt, the best I had experienced in Thedas to date – even better than the first one at Skyhold after trudging through the mountain snow. The biggest reason was because I knew I didn’t have to hurry to get out before the water lost its warmth.

But it was also because I actually had room enough to fully stretch out my legs and submerge them instead of having to hang them over the side like I usually did.

I pressed the backs of my legs to the bottom of the tub, sighing again as the warm runes began to relax the muscles in my calves and thighs. I hooked my elbows over the sides of the tub to prevent myself from sliding farther down and closed my eyes…

But when I opened them again, it was significantly darker in the room, and I realized I must have fallen asleep right then and there. Shaking my head, I immediately set to work bathing with the soap the servants had provided, washing my skin and hair, shaving, and filing my nails.

Not long after I had finished, right after I put on my more casual tunic and breeches, the servants came knocking to take away the tub. They left behind a silver tray, upon which sat two small domed dishes and a little glass of red wine – dinner, as Lady Guillerose had promised. The main course was a tiny quiche, with a tasty mix of spinach, mushrooms, leeks, onions, and beef in the filling. Afterwards, for dessert, there were two small and light pastries very similar to _éclairs_ in style but about half the size, filled with chocolate mousse and half coated in chocolate icing.

I was definitely having mixed feelings about this trip, now.

By the time I had finished eating, the servants came by to take the empty tray, and I had most of my things unpacked and organized for easy access later, I was already exhausted. Planning to try and get as much sleep as possible, I decided to go ahead and ready myself for bed. It was something I was rather excited for – a _real_ bed to sleep in, with a _real_ mattress, after a _real_ bath.

Not at all like the little straw cot after a lukewarm wash I’d grown accustomed to in recent months.

I had just put on my nightgown and was about to fold the covers back on the bed when another knock came upon my door. Padding over on bare feet, I unlocked and cautiously opened it, expecting to see more servants for whatever reason. But there in the hall stood Leliana, garbed in a simple tunic and breeches.

“Oh, Nightingale,” I said, a little surprised to see her, especially not in her usual armor – that was a first. “Is there something I can help with?”

“Just a moment to talk,” she replied quietly, glancing down the hall, “if that is all right with you.”

“Of course,” I answered with a nod, ushering her into the room. “Come on in.”

“Thank you.”

I closed the door behind her, and she paused midway into the room, obviously taking note of everything around her. Then, turning back towards me, she spoke with her voice lowered almost to a whisper, “You exercised caution earlier at the table. This is good.”

My brows rose. “Really? I thought I might have been too careful.”

“No,” she said simply, shaking her head. “You can never be too careful. Not anywhere or with anyone. But especially not here.”

I felt my brows furrow at her words, then. “Do you think something is wrong?”

Her lips thinned. “I do not know. I’m not sure if it is Lady Guillerose herself, or her servants. But… _something_ is off, yes.” She glanced around the room again, her eyes settling on the window. “Keep that latched. And be careful what you say to us. Pretend the walls themselves are listening at all times.” She paused. “You chose a good room. And with me next door to you, you at least don’t have to worry about your neighbor eavesdropping on you.”

I grinned. “It’s good to have friends here you can trust.”

“Yes, it is. Unfortunately, it is also a rare thing, these days,” Leliana replied. Then, after a moment, she pulled her hands behind her back and added, “Speaking of which, Cassandra told me you openly offered her friendship not long before we left Skyhold.” She grinned, “I have not seen her truly surprised very often since I began working with her, but she seemed to be genuinely stunned by your words that day. And touched.” She glanced down at her feet as her grin turned into an amused smile. “I think part of her was afraid you would always see her as a bit of an antagonist, despite getting to know each other better. Especially since you did not start out on the best of terms.”

I chuckled at her words. “Yes, well, she did the same thing to the Herald and look what happened.”

“True,” she conceded with a nod, returning her gaze to me. “But in any case, I am happy to see you are getting along well with most of us here. And I hope relations only continue to improve.”

She paused for several moments, her brow furrowing briefly as she thought. “I do wonder, though…” she began, and then trailed off. Then, another breath later, she started again. “I hope you won’t think ill of me for saying this, but I have been thinking about what you told me a while ago. About the Hero of Ferelden. And I wonder if you will ever be able to see us the same way we see you.”

I cocked my head, curious as to what she was getting at. “What do you mean?”

She sighed. “We did not know you before you fell through the Fade. You are and have always been very real to us ever since we met you. Before you arrived, however, you yourself only knew us through words…through someone else’s story. Their imagination. Now that we are flesh and blood to you, I wonder if we will ever be able to supplant what you have read, or if some part of you will always think we’re merely characters in a book.”

_Oh._

Her statement took me aback a little. Did everyone have this same concern? Were they worried about my attitude towards them, and whether or not I really thought of them as people?

She held up a hand. “Please don’t get me wrong. As I said, I am very glad you are forging friendships here, and I am both pleased and honored you consider me among them. But I do think it is something important for you to think on, no?”

I slowly nodded, unable to do anything else.

With that, she smiled and inclined her head. “But that’s enough of that. I’ll leave you to your rest. Goodnight, Tamsyn, and I will see you in the morning. May the Maker grant you respite.”

“And you. Goodnight, Sister Nightingale.”

As I locked the door again behind her, I found myself sinking deep into thought. She had a point, of course. Even now, I compared everything to what I knew from the _Dragon Age_ media I’d been exposed to. It was my anchor, my familiarity with those things giving me something to latch onto for stability. But at the same time, it kept dragging me back – perhaps even subconsciously so – to the idea that none of this was supposed to be real.

This, despite the fact I thought I had come to terms with Thedas being my new reality months ago.

I blinked, brow furrowing again as I leaned against the door. Was thinking about what I’d read and played before on Earth tainting my perception of the world, perhaps? Was it preventing me from fully accepting these people and this world as real?

It was then that I realized her true concern. My relationships – on any level – with people here were only as real as I myself considered them. If I ever thought about them as just characters, even only a little bit, I diminished their humanity, their selves, and their very existence.

That was something both Corypheus and Solas had in common.

Now that I seemed to be pursuing true friendships with all the Inquisition’s members, not just Cassandra, Leliana was reminding me to take these things seriously.

And I would.

\------------------------------------------------------

I awoke that morning feeling better than I had in what seemed like eons.

Breakfast was delivered just like dinner had been the day before. When I opened the lids of the domed dishes, I was greeted by crepes with macerated strawberries and a pale herbal tea to drink. It was a relatively simple, light breakfast, and I greatly appreciated this break from heavier foods.

Finishing my meal feeling refreshed and well-rested, I then began to ready myself for the day – one that would no doubt be busy. The servants told me we were to meet with Lady Guillerose at ten o’clock in her parlor to discuss arrangements with the Inquisition, which gave me about an hour and a half to both eat and dress. Setting aside the silver breakfast tray, I slid out of bed and pulled my uniform from the wardrobe, quickly donning it with practiced ease before brushing through my hair again. It looked a bit better than usual today, and so I left it down around my shoulders, keeping my hat where I had left it on the vanity.

Sure not to forget my promise to Josephine, I withdrew her Satinalia gift and somewhat nervously began to apply a bit of makeup to my otherwise plain features. Since it was winter, I chose the darker colors: black eye cosmetics, dusky rose rouge, and wine red lipstick that almost perfectly matched the sash decorating my outfit. The brushes included in the kit wouldn’t allow for the same level of detail that modern brushes would, and so I settled for a smoky eye look, using only the barest amount of black makeup and smudging it well with my fingers. With some finesse, I was even able to apply a little to my lashes like mascara. The rouge I also used sparingly. I was, however, generous with the lipstick, as it was such a lovely color and matched my uniform so well. I only hoped I wouldn’t stain our hostess’s silverware or dishes with it…

Finally, I blinked at my reflection in the vanity mirror. It was a bold look – much bolder than my usual makeup choices back on Earth. And I _liked_ it. My eyes looked brighter next to the black, and the stronger colors brought more attention directly to my face.

I smiled at myself before closing the makeup box with a _click_. I could only hope the others would like it as much as I did.

When I entered Lady Guillerose’s parlor at last, it was with a bit of nervous giddiness, as I knew the women would notice the difference as soon as they saw me. The lady herself was already there, seated on a divan with plush white cushions. She wore a half-mask much like Lucien’s this time, rather than her initial full-face mask, revealing a pale-powdered face and dark red lipstick underneath. Her dress was also less ostentatious – long puff sleeves and a high collar, with an A-line skirt, but of the same burgundy as her previous gown. She _did_ wear her same gloves and shoes, however.

Josephine was with our hostess, too, sitting beside her on the divan. The Ambassador wore her usual garb, but her hair was twisted into a higher bun at the back of her head, the golden hairpins I had given her holding it up. Her bangs were parted in the middle, framing her face in slightly wavy wisps.

“Ah, Tamsyn! You look lovely today!” she said with a grin as I proceeded into the room with slight caution.

I blushed a little. “No small thanks to _you_ , Lady Ambassador.”

The corner of Lady Guillerose’s mouth curved upwards as she looked at me. “A splendid act of color coordination, Lady Tamsyn. If I may be so bold, I think it suits you.”

I dipped my head, my blush intensifying. “Thank you, madame.”

“I quite agree.”

Leliana entered the parlor with a broad smile and drew up beside me, nodding to each of us in greeting. “Are we ready to conduct business, then?”

“We are,” Josephine replied, gesturing to the matching chairs opposite the divan. “Please, have a seat, and we can begin our work.”

Leliana and I both seated ourselves, and once we were settled, the discussion about the state of the Inquisition’s clothing and formal attire began in earnest. Lady Guillerose had pen and parchment ready to take notes, and Josephine passed her a thick stack of what I could only assume were measurements and other records about our members.

I kept silent for the most part, instead preferring to listen to the other advisors and our hostess converse about various needs, including intimates. Josephine apparently wanted to procure at least three new sets of every type of underclothing she could think of for our companions and ourselves: men and women’s drawers, undershirts, brassieres, shifts, petticoats, bloomers, half-slips, camisoles, and the like. It made me remember that I had been wearing the same set of underwear since I had arrived in Thedas, and even though I had done my best to keep them clean – even washing them a little by hand after baths sometimes – I really, _really_ needed new ones. I’d keep my Earth ones as long as I could, using them until they wore out because they were what I was accustomed to, but I required more sets if I was to prolong their life.

Besides, I was, in fact, a little curious as to how Thedas really handled the whole undergarment thing, and whether or not it was anything like I’d seen in-game.

After moving on from our people’s unmentionables, as Morrigan might say, the three then began discussing the Inquisitor’s rather lacking wardrobe. It was then that Josephine offered Lady Guillerose another stack of papers illustrating official Inquisition designs, which she took with avid interest. The Ambassador explained Maxwell’s dire want for a suitable set of clothing in which he could hold court at Skyhold. This, inevitably, transitioned to our need for formal attire appropriate for the Empress’s Grand Masquerade at the Winter Palace, and this point was where the discussion finally arrived at the subject of the Inquisition’s uniforms.

“If you are going to the masquerade at Halamshiral, then you _must_ have the best,” Lady Guillerose stated with a wave of her hand. “Nothing less will do.”

Josephine nodded. “We quite agree. It is to our benefit that we appear as powerful as we claim to be. And yet, as much as we would like to indulge in more fanciful fashion whims for the sake of impression, practicality must be the primary consideration. And so, we come to you for a solution on how to achieve both functionality _and_ eminence.”

“Since our primary focus is a military one, at the moment, our Commander has suggested matching uniforms for all of us,” Leliana added. “Much like what Tamsyn here is wearing, but more streamlined in appearance.”

“It would give others the impression that we are a cohesive force. Everyone will know who we are by our similar appearance,” Josephine elaborated.

Lady Guillerose leaned forward and looked my outfit up and down. “Hmm…yes. I see what you mean. A formal jacket like that would do nicely. Though I do think a double-breasted design would be better suited for such an occasion.”

“Wool?” Josephine asked. “Or perhaps velvet, do you think?”

Ysabelle shook her head. “Velvet would be opulent, but may crush with wear and look unsightly after a carriage ride. Wool would be more practical, if that is indeed what you favor.”

“Hmm,” the Ambassador hummed as she thought. “What about velveteen?”

“Velveteen would be a decent compromise, yes,” Guillerose said after a moment, nodding slowly.

“Silk shirts underneath, of course.”

“Of course.”

Our hostess took diligent notes. “Any preferences for colors?”

“Yes!” Josephine replied. “I was thinking a true red. Bold and-”

“Uh, about that,” I said, raising my hand to interject. There was no way I was going to let the default red jackets be the uniforms of the Inquisition if I could help it.

All eyes latched onto me, then, and I smiled sheepishly at their sudden attention. “I, uh…think that might be a little too bright and harsh for some of us.”

“Really?” Josephine said, blinking a little. “You think so?”

I cleared my throat. “Right, I mean…it’s going to clash with Leliana’s hair, here,” I said, jerking my thumb at the Nightingale. “And just think about Iron Bull. In a giant red jacket. We won’t just stand out in the crowd. We’ll stick out like sore thumbs.”

“Oh…that is true,” Josephine replied, glancing at Lady Guillerose, who offered no comment. “Well, do you have any suggestions, Tamsyn?”

_Oh, yes, I do…how nice of you to ask…_

“Well,” I began, “where I come from, black is a standard formal garment color. And it looks good on pretty much everyone. It’s very flattering for all body shapes, and for both men and women.”

Josephine looked a little skeptical. “But it is so… _dark_. And black is typically a mourning color. Should we risk evoking such sentiments?”

I sighed. “Well, there’s always trend setting. Orlais loves that, right? The Inquisition could start something new, and it might catch on throughout the Empire. We’d be remembered for starting it, too.”

Lady Guillerose smiled wryly. “I like the way you think.” She then scribbled a few notes. “As for the red, perhaps it would be better suited for a military sash, no? A slash of color across a field of black…think about it.”

Josephine’s brows rose. “That _does_ sound rather impressive, come to think of it.”

“It does,” Lady Guillerose said with an affirmative nod. “And I believe I can make it work. It will be a new trend, and a fresh and unique look for the Inquisition. I must try it.”

_Yes!_

“If that course seems best, madame, rest assured you have our full confidence,” Josephine replied, after which Lady Guillerose began rearranging her papers.

“And now that our most important concerns are out of the way,” Leliana interjected. “We must establish a better wardrobe for Tamsyn, here.”

 _Ugh_. My cheerfulness vanished just as quickly as it had arrived.

“Yes? What have you in mind?” Guillerose asked, turning her gaze to the Nightingale, and then to me.

“Well,” Josephine explained, “the disaster that brought our friend here to our doorstep left her with naught but the clothes upon her back. She is in sore need of…well, _everything_.”

“I _do_ have a few outfits…” I began.

“But only three, counting what she’s currently wearing,” Leliana interposed. “And the other two are _not_ suitable for her current position. They were made by our late tailor in the Inquisition’s fledgling days, and thus are strictly utilitarian.”

I pressed my lips together. Part of me wondered if this was the influence of the Comtesse de la Forte speaking – the woman who had taken great exception to my wearing a Fereldan-styled dress in a Fereldan castle…

“I see,” Lady Guillerose mused aloud. “I’m assuming those ensembles will be used in a strictly casual sense, so that leaves attire for more formal occasions in greater need of attention, yes?”

“Indeed,” Josephine said with another affirmative nod. “I do plan on increasing the interaction with dignitaries and nobles across Thedas, and Tamsyn needs something appropriate for these events.”

“Daytime and eveningwear, I presume?”

“Yes.”

More scribbling. “Might I ask _your_ preferences, Lady Tamsyn? You have a luxury your absent fellows do not…I encourage you to indulge in it. And please be honest with me, so that I may provide you with articles you will find agreeable.”

 _Great_.

I took a breath. “Well, I don’t like things that make it difficult to sit, so I’m not fond of many layers. I don’t like large skirts. I don’t like revealing necklines. I’m not keen on heeled shoes, either.”

Lady Guillerose looked up from her writing and peered at me from behind the shadows of her mask. “That’s quite a few things you _don’t_ like, my dear. But what about those you _do_?”

I sighed. “I prefer pants or breeches. And long sleeves. And…collars. But not ruffs,” I added hastily, remembering the ruffled collars some Orlesian ladies wore. Those looked like an absolute nightmare to wear, and I would look like a clown in them.

“Perhaps you could pull inspiration from Marcher or Nevarran designs,” Josephine offered.

“Or even Antivan,” Leliana suggested.

“Yes,” Guillerose said slowly, pausing her writing. “Your tastes certainly do not align with Orlesian fashions, at the moment. But that is no issue. I serve many loyal clients from outside the Empire. I am certain that I can tailor something to suit you. If you will pardon the pun,” she added with a sly grin.

“Excellent,” Leliana said with a smile. “We look forward to seeing what you create.”

“And I look forward to the challenge of creation,” she replied, setting down her quill. “Now, anything else I can do for you?”

“I do think that is all,” Josephine replied. “If you require nothing else of us to help you, I think perhaps we should leave you to your work. We have planned a little jaunt to the hairdresser’s for Tamsyn, here.”

Something in the pit of my stomach flopped. Was it dread?

Lady Guillerose’s eyes flicked back to me. “Oh, yes. Those ends need taken care of. Tell me you’re going to Jean-Marc’s.”

“That was the plan,” Leliana affirmed, her smile widening. _That_ gave me pause.

“Good, good,” our hostess said as she nodded her approval. “He will turn those tresses from straw into gold, mark my words.”

I blinked. I wasn’t certain whether to feel reassured or insulted by that statement. I didn’t have time to think about it further, however, as my fellow advisors were suddenly bidding Lady Guillerose a temporary farewell and herding me towards the door.

_Maker, I hope I don’t regret agreeing to this…_

\------------------------------------------------------

The hairdresser, barber, or whatever he was called, wasn’t that far away – just a few blocks farther into the city. The sign outside of the door, of course, quite simply said “Jean-Marc’s” in swirling blue paint atop a white field. If it hadn’t been for that shingle, however, I would have easily mistaken the shop for one of the many other apartments that surrounded the place.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the bright sun of the outdoors to the dim interior lighting, but once inside, I saw the place was empty save for us. The middle of the tiled floor was empty, furniture arranged only around the perimeter of the room, and on the right-hand wall was a fireplace that was currently blazing merrily against the damp cold of the city.

“Maybe he’s not here?” I said quietly.

“Nonsense,” Josephine said, before loudly calling, “ _Jean-Marc!_ ”

I winced.

Not two seconds later, a masked head popped out of a doorway on the right-hand wall.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

The man called Jean-Marc entered the room proper, then, grinning widely at us. He wore a mustached half-mask – white with blue detailing, just like his sign – and underneath the fake mustache was a real, bushy grey one. He also wore a navy blue waistcoat, knee breeches with white hose, and black buckled shoes on his feet. His gnarled hands were bare, but steady, and his brown eyes were bright and sparkling.

“Josephine! And Leliana, too?” he greeted both of them cheerily. “It has been too long! And who is your friend, here?”

“This is Tamsyn,” Leliana replied. “She’s the one we brought to see you. She’s in dire need of a proper haircut.”

He looked me over, rolling up the sleeves of his white undershirt. “Yes, I can see that. Come, madame, we shall have that wild mane of yours fixed in no time.”

Again, I didn’t know whether to be reassured or insulted.

He led me to one of two short-backed chairs in the middle of the room, both of which looked like they might have belonged in a modern executive’s office – ones that had typical leather furniture and tall mahogany bookshelves with far too many duplicate copies of unused encyclopedias behind their glass doors.

As I sat down, Leliana and Josephine also seated themselves on the guest chairs opposite me while Jean-Marc produced a large towel and draped it around my shoulders. I instinctively held it in place with one hand.

“I’ll just lean you back a moment,” he said. Suddenly, the back of the chair lowered until I was almost lying down. It was then I noticed the small porcelain sink behind me, and my neck was resting on the rim.

Now this was rather cute actually. It was almost just like a hair salon from Earth.

_Only in Orlais…_

I didn’t have much opportunity to consider this thought further, however, because Jean-Marc began chatting with me while he worked.

“Just a trim, madame? Or a style?”

“A trim is all I need, really,” I said as he began carefully soaking my hair with water from the sink.

“As you wish,” he answered with an acquiescent nod. “Although I can tell you do require a bit of treatment as well. These lovely locks of yours are far too dry.”

He opened a bottle, and the faint smell of something floral greeted my nose as he rubbed the contents into his hands before massaging my scalp with it. My head began to feel cool…cooler than the water, even. But I somehow wasn’t alarmed.

“I have not seen you in the city before, madame. And I can tell from your accent that you are not from Orlais. Tell me, are you a new resident?” Jean-Marc inquired casually.

“Ah…Leliana and Josephine brought me with them for a temporary visit,” I replied, unsure of how much to tell him, as I didn’t know how close of an acquaintance he was of my fellow advisors.

Josephine seemed to sense this, as she added, “We come from Skyhold, the headquarters of the Inquisition. We are in the city on official business.”

“The Inquisition?” he repeated, pausing for but a moment. “You are Inquisition?”

“All three of us,” Leliana clarified with an almost prideful tone.

“ _Andraste’s Pyre!_ ” Jean-Marc exclaimed as he began rinsing the product from my hair. “How fortunate! Three guests of the Inquisition in my little shop in one day!”

 _Technically only one as a customer_ , I thought. Already he was exaggerating. I wondered just how grandiose this little experience was going to get once it circulated around Val Royeaux five or six times…

“Well, I do hope you have a plan to put a stop to all of this nonsense tearing up the world,” he continued, raising the chair back up where I sat up straight again and reaching for a comb. “It’s hurting business everywhere.”

“We are doing all we can, I assure you,” Josephine replied.

Jean-Marc then began combing through my wet hair, tutting to himself disappointedly every time he got to the ends. “ _Mmm_ …dear me. You have sorely neglected this hair, young madame. I shall have to cut a good five-fingers’ width from it to reach healthy strands again.”

Judging from where the comb was stopping between my shoulder blades, that would mean he would be cutting it to the approximate length it had been when I first arrived in Thedas.

“Do what you must,” I said with an understanding nod.

“Very well.”

I heard him click a pair of shears once before I felt a gentle pulling at the ends of my hair, and he began cutting away. All the while, he continued his small talk with me.

“So, my lady, tell me… you must have some history before you joined the illustrious Inquisition. I am curious. What were you before this divine calling?”

Across from me, Leliana’s brows rose a little.

“I, uh… _well_ ,” I began, scrambling for something to say. “I wasn’t anyone that important really. Just a writer from a small town.”

 _Snip_. “I see. I don’t suppose you have any published tomes in Val Royeaux.”

I swallowed. “No, I’m sorry to say.”

“A pity. Where is this town, if I may ask?” _Snip, snip, snip_.

 _Great_.

“It’s ah, in the Free Marches,” I lied, hoping I wouldn’t have to remember this spontaneously fabricated history anytime in the future. “There’s no name.”

Pause. “No name?” _Snip, snip_.

“No, ser,” I replied, making sure not to nod my affirmation so I wouldn’t jerk my hair out from between his fingers. “As a matter of fact, I’m not sure it is even there anymore.”

 _Snip, snip, snip_. Pause. “Truly? And why is that?”

I swallowed again, noticing Leliana and Josephine both were watching me rather intently.

“The last time I saw it, it was being destroyed. It was the day I left to join the Inquisition.”

Not precisely a lie, that. At least it would make my story easier to remember if I had to retell it later.

“Oh, my!” Jean-Marc exclaimed. “Did anyone else survive this attack?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

He tutted again. “Maker… I am truly sorry to hear that, madame. You have my sincerest sympathies for your loss.” Then, pausing, he asked, “Shall I shorten this fringe to better frame your face as well?”

“Yes,” I said, remembering my bangs had grown out so long they were a bit unruly. I was also thankful for a change in subject, however abrupt. Whether or not his sympathies were indeed sincere, I wasn’t sure, but it mattered not. I just needed to escape this damnable curiosity.

He began trimming away, then, and within minutes, he was finished with his task at last.

“Now,” he said, clapping his hands together. “We cannot let you go out in the cold like this.” He removed the towel from my shoulders. “Come, sit before this fire, here, and you will be dry in no time at all.”

Jean-Marc then blessedly turned his attention to my fellow advisors while I brushed through my hair with my fingers in front of the crackling hearth. Whatever flowery formula he had used on the strands must have been something like a conditioner, because it was extremely soft, even as the heat began to dry it. Much to my delight, it also felt heavier and wavier, rather than quite so bouncy and curly, which would prevent it from looking quite so wild and unkempt, at least for a little while.

Once Josephine and Leliana finished their chat and worked out payment arrangements, the hairdresser then returned and combed through my hair one last time before taking a hairclip, pulling the loose sides to the back of my head, and pinning them there, leaving the wavy fringe framing my face almost like Josephine’s.

“And now, you are done,” he said, producing a mirror and letting me look at his handiwork. “Enjoy your new cut, madame.”

I grinned at my reflection, thinking I looked better than I had since falling into this world. The way my bangs fell around my face, draping over my ears, looked so much more flattering than brushed straight back, and keeping my hair down was far better for my head and neck shape than a simple ponytail. The style itself was also reminiscent of the hairdo I had worn for prom, and I felt my heart ache as I remembered how my mother had a hand in that particular look…

“I’m sure I will.”

\------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, after a similar breakfast to the day before, Leliana, Josephine, and I headed out to see more of the city while Lady Guillerose consulted the workers of her guild regarding the plans that had been established. The walk to the market district proper was a long one, and all along the way, the two advisors showed me various landmarks and happily chatted away about how much some things had changed and how some things had stayed the same since they had both been here together.

It was still cold out, with a horribly bitter wind gusting through the streets, and so it was almost necessary to continuously duck into shops to get out of the icy winter chill. Most of these places were for Josephine to secure regular supply caravans to Skyhold, particularly for more exotic food goods such as spices, but also for basic and necessary products like flour and yeast, dried and jarred fruits and vegetables, pickles, alcoholic beverages other than ale, and many other essential merchandise besides. However, we also visited weavers and textile halls to purchase bolts of cloth, rugs, bedclothes, and other materials needed to improve the general décor of the castle. All the while, I hung back with Leliana while our Ambassador handled the proper business dealings herself. We never had to wait for long, as she was always quick and efficient with her requests and instructions for billing. In minutes, we would be off again, heading somewhere else on her extensive checklist.

The first shop in which we actually stopped to indulge ourselves a bit was a café: the _Café du Lion_. It was a rather small establishment, though well-kept, and Leliana and Josephine both assured me that it was one of the best in the city. Apparently, they specialized in imported Rivaini teas and Antivan coffees, and though the Empress’s favored chai-reminiscent tea was the best-selling item on the menu, it was apparently the latter of the two my fellow ladies wanted to share with me.

We sat at a small table in the dark corner nearest the door, and as Josephine flagged a waiter and put in the order for each of us, Leliana grinned at me. “This will warm us up. And give Josie the energy to keep going.”

“I have energy enough,” Josephine replied with chin lifted. “Besides, I am rather accustomed to Antivan brews.”

Leliana chuckled. “Accustomed enough not to stay up all night writing ridiculous love poetry like you did the last time we came here?”

Josephine glared. “That only happened because you made a bet I couldn’t drink four cups of it and still function. And writing love poetry _does_ count as functioning, Leliana.”

“Never bet against an Antivan,” I reflected, remembering Varric’s words of warning.

“Never bet against _Josephine_ ,” Leliana amended. “She will find a way to win, no matter the odds stacked against her.”

Josephine shook her head and smiled wryly. “You’re just still bitter I took your last royal that day.” Then, turning her attention to me, the Ambassador asked, “Tell me…have you had anything like this before?”

My brows rose. “Coffee? Oh, yes. I used to have it every morning with breakfast.”

Leliana and Josephine both froze with eyes wide. “ _Every day?_ ”

I nodded. “It was quite the big thing. It was traded all over the world. Almost everyone I knew drank it.” I smirked. “You could say that most of the population was actually addicted to it.”

They exchanged looks just as the waiter arrived and set our coffees in front of us. Poured into small ceramic cups, they appeared to be just like standard _café au laits_ , and beside them were a few tiny, plain pastries placed on the saucers. The waiter then slipped away, and Josephine smiled warmly. “Well, it is reassuring that the likelihood of your enjoying it has become much greater.”

I chuckled as I looked down at the little cup of steaming liquid. “I am certain I will.”

I’d just have to wait and see if the trip down memory lane got a little emotional. I halfway expected it would, but hoped it didn’t. The last thing I wanted was my makeup running in public in Orlais of all places…

I sipped carefully at the piping-hot coffee, smiling as I lowered the cup again and closed my eyes while I savored the flavor. It was really, _really_ good. Starbucks-style strength, with an almost caramel undertone. Smooth, rich, and just like Leliana said, it was a perfect way to combat the bitter cold outside. Fortunately, I felt no tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, and so I was safe from makeup disaster.

Josephine sighed happily as she put her cup back on its saucer. “I shall have to have some sent to Skyhold with the rest of the caravan. It is a bit of a luxury, at this point, but a necessary one, I think.”

Leliana and I emphatically nodded our agreement, fully immersed in enjoying this little treat.

After we finished our coffees at last, we decided to do a bit of casual window-shopping as a small break. We perused all sorts of stores and stalls, from jewelers to toymakers. Seeing all of these different professions in action made the city so much more real, like a living, breathing place, and I was glad I had agreed to come along. It made me view the place quite differently.

Once we had our fill of walking around the main market, we stopped for lunch at another small restaurant for the local crab and lobster bisque. The creamy and flavorful soup served to warm us up again after our venturing out in the cold once more, and it left me feeling full and content.

Speaking of seafood, afterwards, Josephine proposed she make her way down the street to the nearby fish market on her own to secure more foodstuffs for Skyhold while Leliana showed me the local sweets shop. Having no desire to expose myself to the full aroma of the wharf, I agreed to the Ambassador’s suggestion, curious to see what sort of candy the native Orlesians liked to indulge in on occasion. Chocolate was a given, of course, but that couldn’t have been the full extent of it. Not in Val Royeaux, especially.

As it turned out, the candy maker in question made the most delicious and irresistible fare in a stunning variety. After sampling the salted caramels, candied melon, and almond nougat, we couldn’t resist buying small boxes of each for ourselves. I had never tasted confections so fresh, not even at some of the tourist traps I’d found myself in on family vacations; the little sugary morsels he offered to us were still warm, and each one melted on my tongue almost instantly. We made sure to purchase enough for Josephine, too, and when she returned to us at last, her cold-bitten face lit up like a child’s at the sight of the sweets. She snatched her share of the boxes out of our hands and immediately shoved them into her bag out of our reach, much to both mine and Leliana’s amusement.

By that time, it was already on the way to sunset, and we had to be heading back to our hostess’s estate if we were to be securely inside before night fell. But even though I was glad to be headed back to a warm bed again, I felt a little sad, because I knew our carefree jaunt in the city was coming to a swift end. It had felt good to spend time with them and talk about nothing important, make a few frivolous purchases, and enjoy good food made by true masters. It had almost been like a trip to Disney World, only better. Because this wasn’t a theme park where everyone played pretend and the shops were novelty stores…it was a real city. And according to Leliana, I had only seen perhaps a tenth of it.

Maybe Val Royeaux wasn’t so bad after all.

\------------------------------------------------------

That night, after I changed into my nightgown and slid underneath the bedclothes with a satisfied sigh, I found I had trouble falling asleep. For what seemed like hours, I tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable-enough position to stay in for longer than five minutes. First I was hot, and then I was cold; off I would toss the covers, only to toss them back on top of me not ten seconds later. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep my eyes shut. My brain was just too active and my body still too energized from the events of the day to properly rest.

It couldn’t have been the lights of the chandelier; they had dimmed to almost nothing as the night wore on, as they had the previous days. Perhaps it was the Antivan coffee from earlier. The brew _was_ quite strong, and having been devoid of such caffeinated beverages save for the occasional tea with Josie, I was probably more susceptible to its effects than I normally would have been back on Earth.

Or perhaps, subconsciously, I knew something was wrong, and my body was trying to tell me something.

If I ever really did fall asleep, I wasn’t aware of it. But what I _was_ suddenly aware of was the tickle of a cool breeze on the back of my neck.

_Open window…_

My eyes widened, and I started with a gasp, flipping from my right side to my back…

…where I was met face-to-face with a clownish white mask, painted with splashes of red across the eyes and mouth.

A scream of terror erupted from my throat just as the Harlequin pounced, pinning me to the bed before I could roll away. Her dagger flashed towards me in the dark, and I barely managed to catch her wrist in time, the point of the wavy blade not an inch from my face.

“ _LELI_ -” my cry was strangled as the Harlequin’s other hand grasped me around the throat, choking the life out of me. My one arm trembled violently as I desperately tried to hold the assassin’s blade at bay while my other hand clawed at the fingers crushing my windpipe, drawing blood as my nails dug trenches into bare skin.

Leliana… she had to have heard me! Where the hell was she?!

My heart slammed against my ribcage as I thrashed back and forth, desperately trying to move. The weight of both me and my assailant had sunk my body into the soft mattress so deeply I couldn’t flip myself underneath her no matter how hard I tried…

But then she shifted forward. In her effort to put more pressure on my throat, she gave me an opening. As if summoning the Seeker’s strength, I envisioned Cassandra. I threw my weight back, bunched my legs, and kicked the Harlequin in the abdomen through the blanket. She flew backwards, bouncing off the end of the bed and gracelessly thudding onto the floor.

“Tamsyn? Are you all right?” Someone asked worriedly beyond the door, their words slightly muffled.

_Josephine!_

“ _Harlequin_!” I hollered with a broken voice as I scrambled off the bed, half-dragging the blanket with me as I stumbled into the dresser and grabbed my shortsword from where it lay on the surface. I was struggling to maintain focus, the life having been first half-scared, and then half-choked out of me. Memories of Willem flashed through my mind, and I knew I’d end up just like him if someone didn’t help me very soon…

The door then slammed and rattled repeatedly in its frame as I whirled around, drawing my blade and dropping the sheath onto the floor in one movement. The Harlequin was already back on her feet, and in a twisted mirror of Cullen’s life-saving move, she flung a throwing knife straight for my head. I ducked, avoiding the razor edge by a hair’s breadth. It buried itself in the wardrobe behind me with a hollow _thunk_. But then a second knife flew much closer to its target, grazing my side and pinning my nightgown to the wardrobe door.

The Harlequin lunged. I spun sideways, ripping my gown clean open and trailing bloody fabric. My side stung as I moved, and I barely registered the thought the knives might have been poisoned. But even as I readied my shortsword, my masked assailant kept pressing the advantage, leaping at me, driving every concern out of my mind but the rather major one right in front of me.

The shouting and banging against the door became louder, and I knew it wouldn’t resist much longer. But seconds counted here, and I was running out of time. The Harlequin’s movements were a blur, and it took all my concentration and willpower not to end up backed into a corner and slashed to tiny pieces. I parried a few of her strikes, but these blows didn’t slow her down at all. I couldn’t even counterattack for dodging her relentless assault.

_Just stay alive…_

And then a flask was in her weaponless hand. Eyes wide, I dove to the side just as she smashed the glass to pieces on the floor. Thick and acrid smoke burst from the vial, billowing into the room, burning my eyes and my lungs and completely blinding me to anything else but featureless grey fog.

_That’s it. I’m dead._

A cacophony of noise filled the air all at once. I heard the door crash inwards of a sudden, followed by men and women’s voices both shouting and coughing. Someone shrieked, and every other word was my name called in panic.

“I’m here! Help me!” I croaked from my position on the floor, the smoke nearly strangling me, tears running down my cheeks.

_Whoosh!_

Wind then rushed through the room like the gusty prelude to a storm, banishing the smoke from the air as if it had never been. Through my watery eyes, to my great astonishment, I saw an unmasked Lucien with hands uplifted, his fingertips glowing a little before he let his arms drop to his side, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Well, there was Guillerose’s mage.

That thought was quickly pushed aside, however, as the rest of the scene became visible to me.

Josephine stood with a maskless Lady Guillerose near the doorway, both women with their hair down, long nightgowns on, and holding candlesticks in their hands. Their mouths were open as they beheld the sight before them. Beside them, near Lucien, were two uniformed guardsmen, swords at the ready.  On the floor in front of them was the Harlequin, dead in a pool of blood, and standing over her corpse was a snarling Leliana, her daggers streaked scarlet to the hilt. Judging from where the Nightingale was, she must have come through the window the same way as my would-be assassin.

“Tamsyn!”

Josephine rushed towards me, discarding her candle on the dresser and bending to help me to my feet. She gasped aloud as she saw my torn gown and exposed side, and I glanced downwards at the wound, which now throbbed severely.

“Maker, you’re bleeding! We need bandages!” She called, almost frantic.

“If you would allow me, my lady,” Lucien said, hovering just behind her.

Josephine turned. “Oh… of course… I’ll just…” she stepped aside awkwardly, allowing the elf access, but still obviously concerned.

“One moment,” he said, examining the yet-bleeding wound with cold fingers before closing his eyes. Holding his hand aloft above the flesh, a soft blue-white light emanated from it, enveloping my side. I tensed. I had not been healed by magic before, at least not while I was awake. I was vaguely aware of a gentle tugging sensation on my skin, but before I knew it, it was over, the light fading from Lucien’s hand. I looked down at my side. My flesh was stitched closed once more, and all that was left was a faint itching sensation.

“Thank you,” I breathed, massaging a bit at my neck and wincing as I swallowed. It was yet bruised for sure, but not as sore as it had been right after I had escaped the Harlequin’s crushing grip.

Lucien smiled and bowed slightly, then backed away as quietly as he had approached to give us space.

“Is she all right?” I heard Lady Guillerose ask at last from her position near the door.

“Healed,” the elf confirmed. “There is no poison, by the way. She was lucky.”

I almost audibly sighed my relief at those words. I had no idea how he could tell such a thing, but I didn’t really care. Though a small voice in the back of my head posited the idea he could have been lying…

“Thank the Maker,” Leliana said, bending and wiping her blades clean on the Harlequin’s garb. I remembered I still held my shortsword in my hand, and I placed it on the dresser, suddenly feeling weak as the adrenaline from the attack gradually faded from my system. I also pulled the gap in my nightgown closed, feeling exposed and immodest despite the fact I wasn’t really showing anything.

“Harlequin, eh?” one of the guards grunted as he sheathed his sword. “Noble hit.”

“And just who hired her, I wonder?” Leliana asked, piercing eyes fixing on Lady Guillerose as she slowly stowed away her daggers.

Our hostess’s own eyes widened in shock as she realized what the Nightingale was suggesting. “Leli…you honestly don’t think _I_ hired her, do you?”

“Leliana, that is _outrageous_ ,” Josephine said firmly.

“Is it?” she replied tersely. “We can trust no one. That has been proven time and again.” Standing, she cast her critical gaze to me and added with a sharp bite in her tone, “And I thought I told you to keep your window latched.”

My mouth dropped open. “I _did_! I didn’t touch it after latching it our first day here! I thought she got in by prying the thing open somehow!”

“Then someone else unlatched it,” Leliana replied, returning her gaze to the suspect Lady Guillerose.

“I understand your anger and your frustration at this situation, Leliana, but _I did not do it_ ,” our hostess said, calmly but firmly. “I swear on Andraste’s ashes. I never touched that window.”

“Then someone else in your household did.”

All eyes then settled on Lucien. The elf mage glanced between us, his throat bobbing once, before he said quietly, “I suspect the kitchen maids. I saw them in the larder late last night acting very strangely. They were communicating with each other through written notes. Not speaking to each other at all. When I entered the room, they threw the papers into the fire. Perhaps so there would be no evidence of the correspondence?”

“Bring them here at once,” Lady Guillerose commanded the guards.

“Yes, madame.”

My mouth was dry, and I felt a little dizzy. As the guardsmen and Lucien left the room to do their mistress’s bidding, Josephine helped me ease onto the bed and sat beside me, putting one arm around my shoulders to keep me steady. All the while, Leliana searched the Harlequin’s garb.

“Someone went to a great deal of trouble to ensure this assassin succeeded,” the Nightingale remarked. “I had agents stationed outside the perimeter of the estate to maintain security. They are dead. Every last one.”

“ _What?!_ ” Josephine and Guillerose both gasped simultaneously.

“I received a message minutes before I heard Tamsyn’s scream. It was penned in the same handwriting as one of those agents, informing me a situation had arisen that I needed to see to personally,” she continued darkly. “But now I suspect it was a ruse…a lure to get me out of the house. And it succeeded.” She shook her head in disgust, standing once more. “Nothing. There is no evidence to be had on this Harlequin. We must look elsewhere for our source.”

The first tear came as a surprise, trickling down my cheek in a slow trail that tickled during its descent. But the second was heralded by a sharp constriction in my throat, paining my already-bruised neck. I reflexively put my hand to my mouth as hot emotion suddenly filled my eyes until my vision blurred and a sob shuddered through me uncontrollably.

“Oh, _Tamsyn_.”

Josephine put both arms around me, then, pulling me close as I began to weep in earnest, unable to stop the debilitating waves of despair crashing into me over and over and over again. The nigh-overwhelming fear and panic and anger that I had managed to sweep aside during the attack returned tenfold now that there was a moment’s peace. Josephine rocked me gently from side to side, most assuredly murmuring words of comfort, but I didn’t register what they were. Instead, I sank deeper into my sorrow, burying my head in the Ambassador’s shoulder as I bawled my eyes out.

I hadn’t failed to notice that this was the second attempt on my life in a relatively short amount of time – a matter of mere months. And like the first, this one had very nearly succeeded, interrupted only by happenstance.

Despite trying to save myself by joining the Inquisition, I was still in constant danger. Perhaps _especially_ now that I was with the Inquisition. So many unknown forces wanted me dead because of what I claimed to do and be. How long before my luck ran out?

_I’m such an idiot…_

Suddenly, stumbling and heavy footsteps could be heard entering the room again. Josephine gently pushed away from me and glanced back towards the open door, and I blinked away tears to see the guards returning with two maids, gripping them by the backs of their plain woolen dresses and very nearly lifting them off the floor. Lucien, and who I could only assume was Annelise, watched from the doorway with hard expressions. The maids themselves were barely out of their teens, and they looked down at the bloody corpse on the floor with wide brown eyes that were nearly black in the dark.

“Which one of you did it?” Leliana demanded. She stood rigidly, unable to hide her anger. I briefly wondered if this event had erased all the softening that talking to her before had done…

Heavy silence was their only reply.

In a flash, both her daggers were out again, their points pressed to the girls’ throats. “ _Answer me!_ Which one of you unlatched the window so a Harlequin could assassinate Tamsyn?”

A hesitance, and then…

“I did!”

The girl on the right squeaked her reply, fresh tears spilling down her own reddened face as it distorted in fear. But I felt no pity for her. My heart laid heavy and cold in my chest.

“Why?” the Nightingale insisted.

“I… I” she stuttered, struggling to speak coherently. “T-they gave me money! A f-fortune!”

“And how much could tempt you into aiding an assassin’s murder of an Inquisition agent?”

“F-fifteen royals!”

One of the guards whistled. It was an impressive sum, especially to one of the poorest class.

“Who paid you?”

“I d-don’t know.”

“You _lie!_ ” the spymistress growled.

“I don’t _IswearIdon’t!_ ” the maid howled as the tip of Leliana’s dagger actually began to draw blood.

“Leliana,” Josephine warned.

The Nightingale glanced between the girls, and then lowered her daggers. “Bring them with me,” she addressed the guards. “There is an Inquisition camp not far outside the city walls. We will take them back to Skyhold, first to be interrogated as to who this ‘they’ really is, and then to be judged by the Inquisitor himself.”

The girls whimpered pathetically as one of the guards nodded and shoved them towards the doorway. They received no words of support or looks of sympathy from Lucien, Annelise, or Lady Guillerose as they passed them by, instead met by sharp glares of condemnation from all three. The former two then followed Leliana and the maids-turned-prisoner down the hall while our hostess stayed. She addressed the remaining guardsman with an authoritative tone. “Get that harlot’s corpse out of my estate at once!”

“Yes madame.”

And with that, he unceremoniously hauled the Harlequin’s body over his shoulder before he, too, exited the bedroom, leaving only me, Ysabelle, and Josephine left.

I felt numb and empty, like everything had been drained from me. Josephine rubbed my back gently, and Lady Guillerose slowly shook her head as she met my gaze. “I am so terribly sorry, my dear Lady Tamsyn,” she said. “You must believe me when I say I feel personally responsible for this terrible attack. If there is anything I can do-”

“There isn’t,” I said flatly. I was done with pretense. I was done with elaborate words and false promises and fake sympathy.

Silence.

“Perhaps I can get you-”

“No.”

Lady Guillerose looked a little taken aback by the shortness of my tone, but after a moment, she nodded, and then silently left the room.

It was then I burst into action, nearly making Josephine jump out of her skin in alarm.

I leapt from the bed, ripping the nightgown over my head and tossing it onto the floor, not caring I was left in my underwear.

“Tamsyn?” Josephine started tentatively.

“I want to go home,” I said curtly, stomping to the wardrobe and jerking the doors open. Both daggers were still embedded within the thick wood, and one of them yet held a bloody piece of linen in place like a tattered streamer.

“But our carriage will not-”

“ _I said I want to go home!_ ” I shouted, whirling back around. “I don’t care if you have to call the goddamned driver in the middle of the fucking night, Josephine. I am _done!_ I am sick of this farcical bullshit and I want to go back to Skyhold _tonight!_ ”

Her hazel eyes were wide as saucers, and I knew she was hurt, but I didn’t have the strength to care. I saw her visibly swallow, and then, nodding, she said quietly, “Of course. I will make the arrangements immediately.”

She very nearly fled the room.

Still boiling with anger, I set to work donning my uniform and emptying the wardrobe and dresser of my possessions, slamming, shoving, and nearly throwing everything I touched.

I had already made up my mind that I would not stay one more day in Val Royeaux, even if it meant walking to the Inquisition camp alone.

\------------------------------------------------------

It took a bit longer for us to pack everything than expected. To my great relief, however, we _did_ finally depart Val Royeaux before dawn. Lady Guillerose continued to apologize to us and to me personally, even as we headed out of the door. She promised our arrangements hadn’t changed, and that she would be sending our attire to us as soon as possible. But none of that even mattered to me anymore.

Much like the ride to the city, our journey back to Skyhold was mostly silent for the first few days. As before, Leliana and Josephine buried themselves in their work, only quietly speaking to each other from time to time. Unlike before, however, I stared blankly out the carriage window, focusing on nothing at all as the normally beautiful scenery of Orlais rolled by. I couldn’t bring myself to even look at Josephine, who I knew was still hurt by my words and very likely thought the attack was partially her fault.

Everything good about this trip had been tainted. Now I wanted nothing more than to be safe within Skyhold’s walls again. And even though I knew we were yet miles away, I practically held my breath in anticipation of seeing the towering spires of the Frostbacks.

Leliana only spoke to me once during the ride, and that was to inform me that Maxwell had returned to Skyhold at last, having arrived at the castle the day of our departure from the capital.

All the better, I thought. Then, perhaps, we could move this story along before someone actually succeeded in permanently removing me from the world.


	37. Chapter 37

The sight of the mighty turrets of Skyhold was like a beacon of hope piercing through the dark clouds of my heart. Instead of being caged by cold stone walls, I felt as though I was being pulled into a safe and warm embrace as we rode through the inner gatehouse at last.

And yet, a small voice in the back of my mind posited a question.

Would I ever truly be safe, even here?

No matter the defenses at Haven, someone had found a way to nearly kill me there and _had_ succeeded in killing two innocent people in the process. And now, even though Lady Guillerose’s estate had been well-guarded and surrounded by skilled Inquisition agents, I had nearly lost my life yet again. And almost all of Leliana’s trusted people who had joined us on the trip had been murdered.

What next?

Dark and twisted fingers of rage and despair wrapped around my heart and clenched, my insides feeling as though they were perpetually clamped in a vice. I wasn’t just in danger; I _myself_ was a danger to everyone around me. That was apparent. First, Willem and Mistress Ferguson died because of my presence. Then, Leliana’s men died because of the same.

Who else would die trying to defend my worthless hide? More soldiers? More scouts? Or one of the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle?

Maybe even the Inquisitor himself?

My stomach rolled at the thought. _We’ll_ all _have to kiss our asses goodbye, then…_

I snorted and shook my head in self derision as I pulled my horse to a halt in the courtyard, just beyond the gatehouse. Of course I understood at the very beginning of all this that figuring things out wouldn’t be easy. But I really didn’t realize just how right I was at the time. I didn’t have solely the enemies of the Inquisition to worry about anymore. Just the simple fact of _being_ here worked against me…more than I could ever have guessed.

My mouth went dry as I realized _I_ was steadily becoming the primary threat to myself and everyone else.

Steeped in these dark thoughts, I wordlessly handed off my temporary mount from the foothills camp to the waiting groom, re-shouldered my pack, and swiftly mounted the steps to Skyhold’s keep. I didn’t spare a glance back at anyone else from the train of supply wagons and the escort of troops behind me. I barely noticed that the bridge from the keep to Cullen’s tower was finally complete, and that all of the scaffolding had been removed from the courtyard.

I just wanted blessed and soothing solitude for a while, to help me try and pick up the pieces of my shattered psyche. Even amongst friends, I was afraid. Even back at what was now my home, I had no idea what to do. No idea what to think. My mind seemed to be forever frozen on the recent attack I had suffered. I was unable to think about anything else but the possibility of impending doom. All the ways this could go terribly, horribly wrong. All the ways people around me could get hurt because of me. Because of just being _near_ me.

_I can’t do this…_

Hot tears welled in my eyes as I entered the main hall, and though I inwardly cursed my weakness, all I wanted to do was wallow in it. I couldn’t meet the inquisitive gazes of any of the guests there, dressed in their cultural finery and armed with polite smiles. I couldn’t greet any familiar face, either…not that of Varric, who stood by the fire warming his hands, or Vivienne, who was making her way across the hall in front of me with her usual grace and poise.

As I climbed the stairs to the second floor, I vaguely registered that the ancient windows at the rear of the hall had been replaced with fresh stained glass during our absence, and that the Inquisitor’s signature throne was at last in place upon the dais. But the implications of the continued progress of the keep couldn’t draw my attention away from my own self-absorption.

At last, I entered my room to find it blessedly empty and just as I had left it weeks ago. I hadn’t anticipated feeling such overwhelming relief upon seeing the tiny and slightly furnished chamber again, but I did.

Maker, I did.

I silently unpacked my belongings – half in a daze and unaware of what I was doing as I moved almost mechanically – and then sank onto the small bed like a sack of potatoes. A part of me was glad it was nothing like the comparatively luxurious bed I’d slept in at Val Royeaux, knowing that if it had been, I probably wouldn’t have been able to relax enough to sleep at night.

Not with the memories of being choked to death still fresh in my mind…

Suddenly, there was a quick knock on the door, and it opened with a soft creak of its hinges. I glanced up, brow furrowing. It was Lea, and her face was bright with a broad smile of greeting as she entered the room, a stark contrast to the shadowy thoughts that shrouded my mind and darkened my heart. I briefly noted she still wore the scarf I had given her over her ponytail, tied underneath her chin.

“There you are!” she exclaimed cheerily. “I thought I saw you at the gates. How was the trip?” She asked, but then her smile slowly faded as she took in my expression and posture, her mien gradually shifting to one of concern. “Oh…was it bad?”

So she hadn’t heard. That was interesting. I was certain word would have spread like wildfire throughout Skyhold once the Inquisitor caught wind of the situation, because the Nightingale had most assuredly sent a message ahead. Or perhaps it was something the Inner Circle had miraculously managed to keep secret.

Regardless, I chuckled mirthlessly at her question. “The Nightingale lost almost all her agents to a murderer and I was nearly assassinated. Again. So yes, it was bad,” I said flatly. Tears in my eyes again, I looked away, unable to meet her wide green gaze, which was almost unblinking as she watched me. “Do yourself a favor, Lea, and go. Leave. Get yourself as far away from me as you can, before you become a victim, too.”

Silence fell over us both. She still stood there, unmoving, as if she had turned to stone on the spot.

My throat tightened, the emotion threatening to burst out of me. “ _Go!_ ” I said again, more harshly this time, fully well willing to break our new friendship if it meant keeping her from dying. “Please!”

“No.”

The resoluteness in her tone surprised me. Unable to resist looking back up at her, I saw her shake her head slowly, her gaze transfixed on mine.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tamsyn,” she continued quietly but firmly, her stance rigid. “If they come after you here, they’ll have to go through _me_ , first.”

I felt my throat constricting tighter, very nearly restricting my speech. I couldn’t believe what she was saying, or understand why she was saying it. “And if they succeed? What then?”

She smiled a little. “Then at least I’ll know I died protecting a worthy woman.”

I shook my head vigorously, in denial of her words. Much to my dismay, the tears streamed freely, now, distorting my vision. I was sick of crying like a miserable wretch, but I seemed unable to physically stop myself. Blinking the blurriness away, I was suddenly confronted by her shoulder as she knelt in front of where I sat on the edge of the short bed and wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace.

“ _No_ ,” I sobbed almost incoherently as she gently patted my back in reassurance. “I’m not worthy of anything…I’m _not_ …”

“Yes you are,” she insisted, squeezing me harder. Almost painfully. “Please stop saying that.”

I hiccupped. “People…get h-hurt around me, Lea. People die!” I gripped the edge of the mattress so tightly my fingers hurt. “I don’t want that to happen to anyone else…I can’t let anyone else die for me!”

“Shhh,” she said soothingly. “It’s not your fault, Tamsyn. You didn’t cause this.”

Despite the conviction in her voice, I couldn’t believe her. There was too much evidence to the contrary.

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why Lea was defending me like this. Why she was so willing to put herself in harm’s way for my sake. I was deeply afraid she had turned her gratitude for my treating her as an equal into undeserved devotion, and that she was going to pay a heavy price for it…

After a moment, she finally released me and stood, looking down at me with an expression of sympathy that made me hurt even more, not feel better. “I hate it, but I can’t stay. I’ve got some things to take care of elsewhere in the castle before sundown. There’s a lot of work yet before the Inquisitor’s tower is done, and we’re still painfully short on kitchen staff.” She paused, putting a hand on my shoulder. “But I’ll bring your supper later tonight, all right? So you don’t have to worry about the crowd.”

I nodded a little, looking down at my feet and saying nothing. She lingered for only a moment more, then turned and quietly left, the door now nearly soundless as it fell shut in her wake.

The thick and oppressive silence that followed, settling over my shoulders like a heavy blanket, was almost crushing. Since most of the castle construction was above me, and the guests were currently housed away from the main hall, living in Skyhold had become quieter overall, that low drone of activity and the hum of the castle the only sounds I could hear in my room, now.

But the silence allowed memories to echo in my mind, as loud as if they were being spoken in my ear:

_“I don’t want to be a crying damsel, Strider. No one else will die for me. The next time something happens to me, I’m going to save myself.”_

_“And you’re sure you can keep that promise?”_

He had known. Strider had been right to question my foolish oath. And I had been too stupid to realize what he meant by it.

 _Now look at me_ , I thought bitterly. I had become a crying damsel yet again.

On top of all that, I couldn’t stop the voice in my head screaming that I was a goddamn hypocrite. I had insisted to Cullen there would be tragedies we couldn’t prevent that he would just have to accept as fact. But now _I_ couldn’t accept the tragedies happening around me one after the other like dominoes falling in a neat little row. I couldn’t accept losing Willem. And then Delia. And now all the poor men and women under Leliana’s command. And yet I had fully well expected Cullen and the others to be okay with losing Haven. Because that was how it was supposed to be.

It made my stomach lurch with nausea.

_You don’t belong here. You’re not Inquisition material. You don’t even know how to handle anything without breaking down in tears. You’re about as worthless as-_

“You’re sad.”

The familiar ethereal voice nearly made me jump clean out of my skin, my bottom leaving the mattress by about an inch when I jerked in surprise. My head whipped around as I glanced over my shoulder in the direction of the sound. There I found Cole, sitting on top of my headboard as if he had been there the whole time, the overly large brim of his hat completely obscuring his face.

My heartbeat calmed a little, and I snorted at the understatement. “Yes, I am. What gave it away?” I said flatly, not taking very kindly to being intruded upon again, especially when I felt so vulnerable.

He cocked his head. “They’re sad too. And angry. So much yelling. Thoughts are everywhere and loud. They twist around your name.”

If “they” was who I thought they were, I understood exactly what he meant.

“Yeah,” I sighed heavily, my gaze drifting downwards again. “I bet they _are_ angry with me.”

“Not you,” he corrected with a slight shake of his head. “Them.” His words then spilled out in that hurried cadence he usually took as he voiced the thoughts he heard in his mind. “ _Should have planned better, should have thought about assassins. Who would dare?_ ” Pausing, he glanced away as if listening carefully. “ _She nearly died. How can she trust us now?_ Guilt and anger and sadness, wrapped tight,” he continued. “They hurt. I can see your hurt, too… but I don’t know how to help.”

“Tell them it’s my fault, not theirs,” I said simply. That way, Cole would at least be able to help _their_ anxiety, if not mine.

“Is it?” he asked, the question seemingly an honest one, not a rebuttal. “They say it’s theirs in their thoughts. Josephine’s are the loudest. She is scared you hate her.”

I felt my brow furrow at that. “She…doesn’t hate _me_? For ruining the trip?”

“No,” he said. Then, after a moment, he added, “You should talk to her. She needs to speak with you, but she’s too afraid to try.”

And he suddenly vanished with the slight rush of air that accompanied his physical departure.

I looked back down at the floor, swallowing, sniffling, and wiping my eyes. Cole was right. I needed to talk to Josephine. But now certainly wasn’t the time for that. She had likely just gotten back to a mountain of paperwork in her office, and I’d even feel more guilt for interrupting her as she tried to wade through all of it.

 _You’re just a coward,_ my conscience viciously ridiculed me.

“Thanks, Cole,” I said to the now empty air after a moment, briefly wondering if the spirit could hear it, wherever he had gone.

\------------------------------------------------------

After I was left in true solitude at last, I tried my best to simply rest my body and mind. But after only about a half-hour, I realized I couldn’t. I was filled with a nervous energy I couldn’t get rid of, an anxious sensation that buzzed in my very bones. I had to _do_ something.

Forcefully huffing my frustration, I rose from my bed and strode out of my room, slamming the door behind me and letting my feet take me wherever they wanted to.

Back into the main hall I went, dodging couriers and nobles and heading into the garden, hoping all the while that no one would intercept me. There, I saw a few Chantry sisters who were busy planting herbs, and so they were too occupied with their work to pay any significant attention to me. I walked around the portico that bordered the plot of green, and then headed straight up the wall stairs to the battlements directly above. There I paused, absorbing the sight of the magnificent scenery around me, as well as the completely renovated empty tower that would eventually become the headquarters of the mages or Templars, whichever Maxwell ultimately chose to occupy it.

After taking a few moments to breathe in the frigid, but clear mountain air, I kept going, striding down the battlements at a decently-fast clip, as if I could walk the tension out of me somehow. The towers along the way were only brief transitions as I entered first one side and then exited out the other, once, twice, three times…

And then I realized I was walking straight for Cullen’s new office. The thought struck me that perhaps I should talk to him if he had some time to spare. If I was completely honest with myself, I really had missed him during those two weeks in Orlais. As good as it had been to spend time with just Josie and Leliana, I had found myself itching to lose at a round of chess again…

But when I finally drew to a halt just outside the gatehouse-side entrance of his tower, I could hear raised voices coming from within the office. The door had not been completely closed by whoever had used it last, allowing the sound to escape better, and after only a moment of listening, I could tell it was the Commander and the Nightingale who were at loggerheads with each other inside…

“…if you had just taken the rest of the men with you!”

“And drawn more attention to us in the process?”

“Yes, Sister. Contrary to popular belief, eschewing subtlety for a show of strength isn’t always the innate idiocy of brute barbarians. Sometimes, it’s an intentional deterrent!”

“Contrary to popular belief, Commander, not everyone is so base as to only be intimidated by what they see. Sometimes the greater fear comes from what is unseen.”

“Right. The Harlequin was certainly intimidated by your _unseen_ agents. So much so, in fact, she somehow managed to kill them all in her fright! Maker’s breath, Leliana, do you honestly believe it somehow would have been worse if you took the soldiers with you to the estate? Is that seriously your defense, here?”

I blinked.

They were arguing about the escort. How Leliana had dismissed the soldiers at the camp beyond the city walls, only allowing her agents to proceed into the streets beyond. No doubt Cullen blamed her for the attack, thinking that it would have been prevented if there had been an obvious presence of Inquisition forces at Lady Guillerose’s estate. And he could have been right.

I slowly backed away. There was no way I was going to interrupt _that_ little spat, not for all the gold in Thedas. Spinning on my heel, I immediately headed back along the battlements in the direction I had just come – across the gatehouse and past the Herald’s Rest again to a secluded spot near the one corner of the castle where Maxwell had encountered Hawke for the first time.

I lingered there for several minutes, simply breathing in and out slowly as I leaned on a merlon and looked out at the growing camp of Inquisition soldiers in the valley below. If I squinted, I could see the men moving between tents and around smoking campfires like ants, their helmets occasionally glinting in the bright afternoon sun. They seemed so small down there…

I made the mistake of letting my gaze fall too far downwards between the merlons, and my stomach lurched violently as I quickly looked away.

_Dear God, this is so high up._

Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus on something a little less distant and _down_. The battlements, yes. Much better. Patrolling guards, flapping banners, and…

_Gulp._

And there was Cullen, headed right for me. My stomach did a little flop as I noted his quick approach.

Or was it my heart?

“There you are, Tamsyn!” He greeted me as he neared, climbing up the small stair on the wall two steps at a time to reach where I stood, his armor shimmering in the light as he moved. “Leliana sent word ahead about the attack in Val Royeaux. Are you all right?”

I shrugged, snorting dourly as I struggled to meet his gaze. “I’m alive.”

He sighed heavily as he drew up next to me, almost hanging his head in shame as he raked his fingers through his hair. His face was all hard angles in this light. “Maker, we’ve failed you again. This is entirely our fault, and I apologize.”

It almost physically hurt me to see him with that stance, and I shook my head emphatically. “No, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. Please don’t blame yourself or anyone else, Cullen. It’s me. It’s all on me.”

His brow furrowed deeply at that, and my chest tightened until it hurt. Physically unable to look him in the eye at that point, I pushed past him, headed… Maker only knew. Anywhere without people I cared about. Just so I didn’t have to face them.

“Tamsyn, wait!”

Stiffening, I stopped, something forcing me to halt in my tracks. I turned back around just as he had rushed to follow me, which resulted in our sudden colliding chest-to-chest. Wide-eyed, I looked up at him, and both of us froze in place in mild shock, unsure of how to proceed.

Such a genuine expression of concern had writ itself on his face as he looked down at me, nothing but earnestness in his eyes and worry creasing his brow. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it again, at a loss for words.

I couldn’t risk hurting him like I had hurt Josephine. He didn’t deserve that. Neither of them did.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I threw my arms around him, burying my face in the thick and soft fur of his mantle and grasping at the back of his coat, pulling fistfuls of heavy fabric between my gloved fingers. He was very still for a few seconds, and then his arms slipped around my shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, pulling me close, but gently. Loosely enough I could back away from him whenever I wished.

Like I would ever back away from this.

I didn’t cry again. I had cried so much already that my tear ducts were dry and hot as a summer riverbed. I just closed my eyes and squeezed him tightly in return, even though he probably couldn’t feel much for his armor. His breastplate was cold and hard against my chest and shoulders, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was the sweet and blessed peace that had suddenly blanketed me…

In that moment, something about him grounded me – calmed the flightiness of my soul and soothed my raw nerves. Everything seemed to go quiet and still as neither of us moved beyond our simple embrace. The soft breeze ruffled through my hair and the fur of his mantle, making it tickle my nose, and there was the occasional twitter of a bird or caw of a raven. All other things slowly but surely slipped away, leaving only the two of us there on that high parapet.

I never wanted to let go of him.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, so softly I could barely hear. “You’re safe now.”

Words I loved to hear coming from him and so desperately wanted to believe.

His proximity didn’t offer warmth. There were too many layers between us for that. But there was something equally comforting in the solidness of him. He was a rock. A pillar. And after so much fear clenching my heart, I _did_ feel safe at last, and my insides seemed to sag limply in relief. I suddenly felt so much safer than when I had first ridden back through the castle gates. Like nothing could ever touch me.

And then there was that subtle sweet, woodsy, floral scent again. Something that was uniquely Cullen. The elderflower and oakmoss.

If this simple hug was all he ever allowed me, I would die a happy woman.

“Are you two lovebirds done yet?”

The familiar voice made us both spring apart in surprise like startled cats. There stood Varric, casually leaning sideways against a nearby merlon and giving us a shit-eating grin as he observed us.

Cullen and I exchanged abashed looks. “ _We are not-_ ”

“Whatever you say,” the dwarf replied, waving a gloved hand dismissively at us. “Anyway, the Inquisitor sent me to tell you he’s calling an official council meeting in the War Room. He says he wants update information on everything that’s happened at the castle since he left. He’s got a lot to talk about, himself, so he said to prepare for a long one. I don’t know if that means bringing chairs or strong drinks. But you might need both before it’s over. Trust me,” he took a breath and shook his head as he turned away. “It’s bad.”

Cullen and I traded looks again, this time far more serious ones, and then nodded our understanding.

“Go on, Tamsyn,” said the Commander, waving me ahead of him. “I’ll gather all my reports and catch up to you in a minute.”

“All right. See you there.”

I steeled myself and began making my way towards the keep, readying myself for the meeting to come and the work that would need to be done. There was no time to dwell on anything else anymore.

Back to business as usual.

 

[ ](http://snippetsrus.tumblr.com/post/175179930361/title-a-little-spark-i-was-fortunate-enough-to)

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Once we had all gathered together around the War Table and offered each other our welcomes back to Skyhold, we began the lengthy process of deciding our next moves. The meeting began with relatively mundane matters, including the various missions the rest of the advisors had mentioned at the previous meeting. Maxwell also briefed them on the number of rifts he had closed and confirmed that demons had finally ceased harassing the locals and travelers after they were permanently sealed. Of course, this meant increased stability for all of Ferelden as well as safety for the merchants heading to and from Skyhold… which, by extension, meant good things for the Inquisition.

Then, however, Maxwell began describing the situation at Crestwood in more detail. He confirmed the reports of undead harassing the villagers, and he also described the ultimate source he found – the rift that had opened beneath the waters of the nearby lake. He explained to the council how the mayor of the town had abandoned his sickened people during the Blight, flooding the old village via the Crestwood dam supposedly to save the rest of the un-Blighted populace, while letting the ill ones drown in their homes. Josephine’s face bore an expression of pure horror as the Inquisitor recounted the grim tale, while Cullen shook his head in disgust.

“He admitted to the crime via a note and fled after we opened the dam again to drain the lakebed and reach the rift,” Maxwell said. “He has the murder of many men, women, and children on his hands.”

“We can find him,” Leliana assured, glancing to the other advisors, who nodded in affirmation. “He cannot escape justice for this.”

“I am certain if the King were to hear the tale of this incident, he would put out a warrant for the mayor’s arrest,” Josephine remarked.

“We also have road patrols already routed to Crestwood,” Cullen added. “We can use them to conduct a search if you would like.”

Maxwell nodded. “Alert His Majesty,” he told Josephine, who immediately began taking note of his orders with the flick of her pen. “The King should know of this crime that was committed on his soil, and his men should be the ones to apprehend this scum of the earth.”

“It will be done, Your Worship,” the Ambassador assented with a dip of her head.

“Besides, we’ll need the men and resources from our soldiers and scouts to take control of Caer Bronach,” the Inquisitor continued, indicating the fortress on the Fereldan map. “We cleared it of the bandits who had occupied it, and I figured it would make a decent secondary base for our forces.”

Leliana did not hesitate in moving one of her markers to the spot. “Charter is in the area. I will have her investigate and report back to me, and then we can work from there.”

“Good,” Maxwell replied. “Now, as for Hawke and the Wardens… the situation seems far more dire than we first anticipated.”

“How so?” Cullen asked with brow lifted.

The Inquisitor sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his head and ruffling the hair there. “Hawke’s contact was a Warden named Jean-Marc Stroud. Formerly a Chevalier. He was hiding in Crestwood from his fellow Wardens, who were on orders from the Orlesian Warden-Commander to find him at all costs.” He glanced to Leliana. “Just as you suspected, this disappearance of theirs from Ferelden and Orlais is not random. It all started with what Stroud calls a ‘false Calling.’ Do you know of this yet, Leliana?”

Both Leliana’s brows rose in surprise. “I do not. The Calling I have heard of, yes. But a false one? I’m not sure I understand the details well enough to comprehend what Stroud is talking about. Warden secrets are well-guarded, and even Alistair and Mahariel did not understand them all, nor did they share everything they _did_ know with us at the time.”

I cleared my throat, garnering the Inquisitor’s attention. “I can provide some clarification on that, if you would like.”

He nodded and gestured to me to go ahead. “Please do.”

I took a breath. “Well, long story short, the Calling is what every Warden experiences when they reach a certain age, and it’s a direct result of their Joining.” I glanced between the other advisors. “What I’m about to tell you is probably not supposed to be widely known, so it stays in this room, all right?”

They each nodded solemnly in agreement.

Sighing, I continued. “All right. So, the Joining. I don’t know all the nitty-gritty details, but the ceremony to become a Grey Warden involves some sort of potion made from several ingredients. The two key portions are treated lyrium and darkspawn blood.”

“A potion?” Josephine asked, her eyes widening at the same time her lip curled a little. “So they… _drink_ darkspawn blood?”

“Yeah,” I grimaced. “That’s part of it, at least. It’s what gives the Wardens their abilities to sense darkspawn in close proximity, as well as their immunity to the Taint. Sort of. If they survive.”

Leliana nodded her understanding. “I know the Joining is sometimes lethal. That must be why.”

“Yes,” I continued. “Not everyone takes well to it, though. It kills a good percentage of those who ingest it. Those who die during the Joining are given full honors as Wardens anyway, because they were just as willing to sacrifice their lives for the cause as the ones who lived through it.”

“And how is this connected to the Calling, then?” Cullen asked.

“Well, drinking darkspawn blood isn’t the healthiest thing, as you can imagine,” I said with a shrug. “The immunity to the Taint comes at a price. It’s only temporary. Once the Warden begins reaching forty, fifty, and sixty years old, depending on their age when they Joined, they start to hear what they’ve dubbed ‘the Calling.’ As far as I know, it’s basically the song of the Archdemons that calls the darkspawn to them, which is what eventually causes Blights to happen. Dreams first, and then things get crazier from there. It slowly makes them go mad as the Blight in their system takes over.”

Josephine’s brow furrowed. “And what do they do, then? When they begin hearing this song?”

I sighed. “It’s customary for them to go to the Deep Roads and die fighting the darkspawn, taking as many with them as they can before they can become darkspawn themselves. Oftentimes they join up with the Legion of the Dead and go to their graves together.”

“‘In Death, Sacrifice,’” Leliana intoned solemnly, her hands behind her back.

“But Stroud believes this Calling he’s hearing is false,” Maxwell added. “Because every Warden in Ferelden and Orlais began hearing it at the same time. Something that has never happened before.”

“That does sound odd,” Josephine affirmed. “What is the likelihood of every Warden experiencing something like that simultaneously, given the Joinings happen sporadically, if I understand the ceremonies correctly?”

“Yes,” Maxwell agreed. “Expectedly but unfortunately, it’s caused the Wardens to panic, as most of them think it is very real and that they are all facing imminent death. Warden-Commander Clarel has recalled them to a Tevinter ritual tower in the Western Approach, here.” He pointed to the location on the Orlesian map. “Apparently, she wants to marshal their forces and lead an all-out assault into the Deep Roads to find the remaining Archdemons and end the Blights once and for all before every Warden dies and there is no one left to defend Thedas from the onslaught of the darkspawn.”

“Pulling all of the Wardens out of the realms of Thedas and sending them to the Deep Roads to sacrifice themselves?” Cullen mused aloud, his brow furrowing as he clenched the pommel of his sword. “That reeks of Corypheus’s influence. Being a darkspawn magister himself, he would have _everything_ to gain from the Wardens’ demise.”

“Stroud thought so as well,” Maxwell said. “Hawke’s initial slaying of Corypheus drew the attention of the senior Warden officials, who believed the caged magister dead then and there, just as Hawke told us he did. But Stroud had his doubts, and so he did some digging. According to him, Archdemons can only be slain by Wardens under certain circumstances, and he thought that Corypheus might have a similar ability.”

“That _would_ explain why he came back to life,” Leliana remarked.

Maxell nodded, leaning forwards onto the table. “Yes. Stroud’s research was ultimately inconclusive, and it was shortly afterwards that the Wardens began hearing this mass Calling. He suspects this is Corypheus’s doing as well, conducted once free of his prison. Stroud is not certain how, as apparently information regarding Corypheus was classified to all but the highest levels of Warden command. But Hawke did mention that Corypheus has mind-controlling powers of some sort. It would not be beyond all rationale to assume this Calling is of his creation, too.”

“His creation or not, this plan of the Wardens sounds very dangerous,” Josephine observed. “For everyone, including themselves.”

“It is,” Maxwell said darkly as he straightened again. “Warden-Commander Clarel is prepared to use a blood magic ritual on these Wardens. Presumably to enhance their abilities before the march on the Deep Roads.”

Cullen groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why must it always be blood magic…?”

“It’s um… worse than that,” I said quietly.

“It can get worse?” Cullen asked, glancing across the table to me. “The only thing that would be worse is…” he trailed off, his eyes widening in comprehension as his hand dropped. “Oh, Maker. _Demons_.”

I offered a sheepish smile. “Yeah… remember that army of demons we keep coming back to alongside the assassination of Empress Celene? The stuff His Worship here saw in the future? And that you haven’t found out anything about it at all outside of that Envy demon at Therinfal?”

“Don’t tell me the _Grey Wardens_ are going to summon them?” Leliana asked, herself showing rare astonishment at my suggestion.

I grimaced as I confirmed, “They are. And have their mages possessed by them.” Both Cullen’s and Maxwell’s mouths dropped open as I continued, “That’s Clarel’s _real_ plan. It would be a bad enough idea on its own, even if they _were_ faced by a real mass Calling like they think they are. But add to that the fact Corypheus plans to use his mind-bending influence to take control of that demon army and then turn it against the rest of Thedas…” I trailed.

“And so Thedas’s greatest heroes become its doom,” Josephine said gravely, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

This time, it was Cullen who leaned with both hands on the table, gaze transfixed on the Orlesian map. “The Western Approach is a month or more of travel away, even in the best of conditions. How can we even hope of getting there before this nightmare plan of Clarel’s comes to fruition?”

_Nightmare. Haha, the appropriateness of that term…_

“Well, that time that works against you works against them, too,” I pointed out. “And the Wardens are still scattered across Thedas. It will take them a while to get organized… probably longer than it will for us. In the meantime, I can tell you a few things that will give you an advantage.” All eyes fixed on me. “There is indeed a Tevinter ritual tower where Hawke wants to meet you with Stroud later on, Inquisitor,” I said, nodding to Maxwell. “But their main headquarters, and where they plan to begin their march, is actually the fortress of Adamant. Even though it’s an ancient Warden stronghold and not designed to hold up against an organized army, you’ll still need siege equipment if you want to do significant damage quickly.”

“And time is of the essence,” Leliana replied. “I will order scouting parties into the Western Approach immediately. With luck, we will have information by the time the Halamshiral ball takes place.”

“I will also send word to our allies,” Josephine added, scribbling on her tablet. “You will have all the siege weaponry you need, Commander. Of that, be assured.”

“We can then march our forces out there and put an end to this threat before Corypheus can harness it,” Cullen nodded as he spoke, the gears turning behind his eyes as he pulled himself upright and returned his attention to the Inquisitor across from him. “I’ll admit, I am ambivalent about attacking the Grey Wardens, as this will no doubt reflect poorly on the Inquisition and our intentions. But if they are so crazed by this Calling as to think this is a legitimate way to save the world, and they are either unaware or unwilling to acknowledge the threat Corypheus poses to them and everyone else in Thedas, then I will feel no remorse opposing them on the field.”

“In the meantime, we must also keep up the pressure on Corypheus’s forces elsewhere, so that he has nowhere else to turn,” Leliana observed pointedly.

“I agree,” Cullen said. “Samson is threat enough on his own. With the field reports we’ve gathered over the last few weeks, we’ve been able to track Samson’s suppliers with increasing accuracy. We’ve followed our hunches and finally pinpointed activity surrounding lyrium smuggling to the Emerald Graves of Orlais.” He indicated the area on the map with one gloved finger. “Judging from our eyewitnesses, it seems Samson might be using independent mercenaries as smugglers to transport red lyrium to his Templars. If that is the case, we need to get in there and put a stop it in order to cripple his forces, as well as find any information regarding where they are obtaining this lyrium in such vast quantities. It is obvious they are getting it from sources outside of the random sightings in Ferelden, and so despite your commendable efforts in destroying what you’ve found, I doubt we’ve done much damage to their supply.” His lips pressed together as he frowned. “I’m starting to think what you and Varric have seen is effect, rather than cause.”

“Which, in and of itself, is rather alarming,” Leliana added. “It seems the Red Templars have been hard at work rebuilding their ranks to pre-Haven levels. We must ensure they do not succeed in doing so.”

“That we must,” Maxwell agreed grimly.  Then, after a moment, he sighed. “All right. I will plan for another outing to Orlais in a few days, with a fresh party, and perhaps we can get some answers and be back before we have to leave for the Winter Palace. After that, I’ll venture out to meet Hawke and Stroud in the Western Approach. Hopefully you’ll have a camp established there by then.”

He put his hands on his hips. “Unfortunately, we’ve discovered Calpernia and her Venatori are hard at work as well, and with equally concerning matters.” He then pushed something I hadn’t yet noticed near the edge of the table closer to the middle where the rest of us could see it more clearly. Upon further inspection, it looked like one of those odd stone-and-crystal shards that were scattered across southern Thedas.

“They seem to be focused on locating artifacts of some sort,” he continued. “We’ve found these things all over the place in the Hinterlands and on the Storm Coast. Something about them makes them completely invisible until they’re viewed through special skulls the Venatori crafted.” He then frowned deeply as he elaborated, “Apparently, Alexius ordered his people to create a means to find these shards from the skulls of Tranquil. Demon-possessed Tranquil.”

Josephine’s brows hit her hairline, and Leliana grimaced in revulsion, while Cullen looked completely astounded at the idea. “‘ _Possessed Tranquil_?’” he repeated incredulously, sparing a glance in my direction. “How is that even possible?”

Leliana sighed before elaborating, “Though it was originally thought that the Rite of Tranquility prevents possession entirely, it appears that is not quite the case. Divine Justinia was privy to a bit of private research on the subject shortly before the outbreak of the mage-Templar war. As a matter of fact, the particular result of the research itself was one of the causes of the war to begin with. It requires more study to fully understand, but the evidence is there, and so this is indeed a plausible situation.”

“In any case, it is not surprising the Venatori found a loophole in the ritual,” Josephine remarked. “Tevinter has some of the best arcane scholars in the world. Although, it is shocking the rebel mages would so easily turn over the Tranquil to-”

“They weren’t,” Maxwell interjected, disgust etched onto his features. “Judging from some of the notes we’ve collected from some of the Venatori agents, most of the Tranquil were never protected by the rebels to begin with. They were conveniently ignored and just left to wander in the wilderness, and so they were easy prey for Alexius’s pets.”

“Yet another crime he will answer for soon,” Leliana said darkly.

“Regardless,” Maxwell continued, “at this point, I am more concerned with what these shards are and why the Venatori wanted them. And still do. They must be connected to something important they hope to use against us.” Glancing to his advisors, he asked, “Is there anyone we can contact who might know more about them?”

The Nightingale dipped her head. “Of course. We have many talented researchers of our own among the rebels here at Skyhold, and they have connections still to the wider world. Perhaps they can atone for their neglect of the Tranquil by assisting us in finding out the reason for their murder.”

The Inquisitor nodded his understanding. “Good. Whatever these things are, they certainly are prolific. In the Hinterlands alone, I’ve found them scattered all the way from Hafter’s Woods to Lady Shayna’s Valley. They seem to be part of something rather large.”

“Funny you should mention that latter area, Inquisitor,” Leliana said with a smirk. “My agents report a rather large carcass of a recently slain Fereldan Frostback and those of her juvenile dragonlings in Lady Shayna’s Valley as well. That wouldn’t happen to be _your_ handiwork, would it?”

Maxwell’s sudden wide-eyed look was like that of a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I… well,” he laughed a little, his olivine gaze drifting downwards towards the table. “Yes. That was me.”

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen cursed, while Josephine put her hand over her mouth in shock. I merely grinned.

“ _What!_ ” Maxwell objected. “What was I supposed to do? Let her make suppers out of the refugees for her young? She was too close to the Crossroads and Redcliffe. Someone had to solve the problem before a tragedy occurred. A mining camp was already destroyed at her lair. Besides, she was standing in the way of some surface-level red lyrium I needed to take care of.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to make this a habit,” Cullen replied flatly. “Corypheus’s pet is more than enough to worry about without having to consider every other high dragon in Thedas, too.”

“Well, I did see one fighting a giant on the Storm Coast, and then there were complaints about another harassing the villagers at Crestwood-”

“ _Inquisitor!_ ” Josephine chided.

Maxwell shook his head and huffed out his frustration. “I understand it’s a great risk to fight one of those beasts. But honestly, when have I _not_ been at risk since I got this Mark?” he asked, raising his left hand. “The Inquisition is about keeping people safe from threats they can’t face on their own and that their home nations cannot stand against. Would that not include dragons?”

Leliana smiled. “I, for one, am not against our Inquisitor becoming something of a dragon slayer. After all, it suits the aesthetic we chose, no?”

Josephine sighed heavily. “I suppose we cannot stop you from fighting them, if that is truly what you wish to do. And if nothing else, we _can_ use this to give us diplomatic leverage. Slaying a dragon is yet considered a legendary feat, and with it comes gossip-mongers and gawkers, particularly amongst the nobility.” She glanced at Cullen. “Perhaps we could have some of your soldiers bring back a few trophies from this dragon as proof of the incident?”

Cullen facepalmed. “Maker, you’re joking…”

“I am not,” she replied simply, her expression unchanging. “If this creates an opportunity to strengthen a few political ties, we must not let it slip by.”

“There is also the chance to obtain rare materials we can use for weapons and armor,” Leliana pointed out. “Blood, bone, and scales. These things we could also make use of at the undercroft.”

“True enough,” Cullen acquiesced with a reluctant nod, placing an iron marker at Lady Shayna’s Valley on the Fereldan map. “I will deploy a company to the area to carve up the carcass, and we can bring the most valuable portions back to the castle. Hopefully before it starts to decay…”

“We can send Fiona’s mages to help with that,” Leliana offered.

“Speaking of mages,” Josephine said, returning her attention to Maxwell. “Harritt has told me that Skyhold’s undercroft seems to be designed to work with magical crafting. Or, at the very least, it would work well with such. We have discovered there is an expert working out of Tantervale who calls herself an ‘arcanist.’ According to my sources, she has caused quite the stir both in the Empire and the Imperium with her groundbreaking theories and experiments. It would likely be to our advantage to obtain her services, if at all possible.”

“Yes. Unfortunately,” Cullen explained, “her talents have created trouble for people around her in the past, destruction of property chief among them. It will be difficult to get her from the Marches to Skyhold without ruffling feathers.”

“They’ll have to know she is there, first,” Leliana replied with a smirk. “If we approach this carefully, they will never be aware of her presence.”

Maxwell shrugged, “If we can use her and you can get her here safely, I don’t object. We could use enhanced weapons and armor.” He then smiled wryly, “But if she ends up blowing up the undercroft, I’ll not be held responsible.”

There were a few amused murmurs at that. As Leliana moved her markers along the Imperial Highway in Orlais, then, I was suddenly struck by a thought regarding our imminent quest to Halamshiral. “Hey, have you gotten word from Gaspard, yet?” I asked, “He should be answering your inquiry soon, if he hasn’t already.”

“Oh, yes, we do finally have a response from the Grand Duke,” Josephine replied with an affirmative nod. “Thank you for reminding me. He says he is more than happy to invite us to the ball as his guests, and he is quite eager to meet Inquisitor Trevelyan in person.” Her gaze flicked to Maxwell.

Leliana scoffed as she resumed her place. “I’m sure he is. Though Gaspard bears no official love of the Game, he _is_ a decent player. It is only by chance that Celene managed to escape him at the outset of the war. No doubt he seeks to win you over to his side, Inquisitor.”

“And as Tamsyn has suggested before, I am also certain he is more than willing to use the Inquisition as leverage against the Empress during the peace talks, whether we have agreed to help him or not,” Cullen remarked sourly.

“Of that, there is little doubt,” Josephine affirmed. “It is why I was able to secure an invitation so easily. But rest assured that we have made no official agreements with him, other than that he has acquiesced to being our sponsor.”

“Well,” Maxwell said with a shrug, “at least we have our means of getting inside the place.”

“My agents are in the process of gathering more information about Halamshiral and the Winter Palace itself,” Leliana added, “as well as the planned attendees. Once I have that, I will brief you on the situation, Your Worship.”

“I will also be preparing the men for conduct during the affair,” Cullen added. “We will have to work with discretion, but I believe we will be able to supply support within the palace itself, provided it is not enough to alarm the Empress’s guards.”

“I have a few ideas regarding that, if you are willing to hear them later,” Leliana proposed.

“Other than that, all that remains is to receive our commissioned finery,” Josephine said. “Tamsyn helped us create a design we believe will be flattering for everyone and suitable for an organization of our status.”

Cullen’s lips thinned again, and I could tell he wasn’t looking forward to testing her theory, even though he said nothing in reply.

“On a related note, we also have received word from King Alistair of Ferelden,” the Ambassador continued, nodding in my direction. “While you were gone, Inquisitor, Tamsyn suggested we solve the country’s apprehension regarding our activities within its borders by inviting His Majesty to Skyhold.”

“Oh?” Maxwell’s eyebrows rose as he glanced to me. “And what did His Majesty say to the request?”

She sighed. “In essence, he says that he would be delighted to visit us, but due to deteriorating conditions along the roads, he will not be able to make the trip until after the new year arrives. Which means he will most assuredly _not_ be coming to Skyhold until well after the Empress’s Masquerade.”

The Nightingale chuckled from her end of the table. “Don’t pretend you’re disappointed, Josie. You were about to tear out your hair over the décor of the keep not two minutes before the message arrived.”

At that, Josephine huffed loudly and shook her head in denial. “I was _not_ about to tear out my hair, Leliana. You know I work far too hard for it to be presentable to wreck it in such a manner.”

“Still,” Cullen interjected more seriously, “despite the royal attendance being delayed by a few months, it would be wise to consider accommodations for His Majesty early, lest we be caught unprepared when he finally is able to make it here.”

“Agreed,” Maxwell said with a quick nod. “If you don’t mind, Ambassador, I will be glad to help you make decisions regarding the events surrounding King Alistair’s visit.”

She dipped her head graciously. “I would welcome and greatly appreciate the assistance, Inquisitor. It is, after all, _your_ fortress. It is only proper that we should tailor the decorations to your tastes, whenever possible.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I will make the arrangements to visit your office this evening, and we can get started.” After she nodded her agreement to the proposal, he then glanced to the rest of us. “Anything else?”

When no one answered, he finished at last, “Council dismissed. Tamsyn, if you would meet me later in my quarters? I would like to have a word.”

I was a little surprised by the request, but I nodded nonetheless. “Of course, Inquisitor. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Good.”

And with that, everyone gathered their notes and reports and made ready to leave.

I sighed. It was now or never. While the rest of them began leaving the War Room, I hung back a bit, gesturing to the Ambassador to get her attention as she moved around the table. “Josephine, um…do you have a moment?”

Her brows rose at my question, and she slowly set her tablet down on the table’s edge. “Of course, Tamsyn. What is it you require?”

I took a deep breath. Best to just cut to the chase. “I just wanted to say…I’m sorry. For exploding at you after the attack. It was unfair and uncalled for. And I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

The silence that followed was almost unbearable. She looked a little stunned a she absorbed my words, but then, she said at length, “Tamsyn, I do completely understand that you were shaken and spoke out of fear and anger. Most other people would have done the same, in your shoes. I do not hold it against you.”

“But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like I did,” I protested. “I lashed out at you, and you didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t your fault.”

She blinked in obvious surprise. “You…truly don’t think so?”

“Of course, not,” I shook my head. “And neither was it Leliana’s. Or Cullen’s. It just…it was all about me. The reason was me.”

“Oh, _Tamsyn_ ,” she said, rushing forward and wrapping me up in a big hug, which I reciprocated in happy relief.

That was the third hug in a day. Maybe things were getting better after all.

“Perhaps the _reason_ was you, but it wasn’t your _fault_ , either,” she said as she finally pushed me away by my shoulders. “I wish to apologize, myself, for enabling that situation to begin with. I should have thought you would be a target. Especially in Val Royeaux.” She glanced down at her tablet, watching the flickering flame of the candle. “I believe we have underestimated just how far word has traveled about you, and in what fashion. It seems agents of Corypheus have embedded themselves into the various societies of Thedas faster than we at first anticipated. I should pen warnings to all governments to be aware of infiltration.”

I nodded my agreement. “He’s been at this longer than you think. With many agents. Nowhere is completely safe. Not even here. Cullen needs to keep that in mind.”

Josephine chuckled. “I would not worry. That man takes _everything_ seriously. Andraste forbid it, but if anything does happen here, it will not be for _his_ lack of effort. That I trust.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork commissioned by @SnippetsRUs and made by Froschkuss!


	38. Chapter 38

It was after almost half an hour of happily chatting with Josephine about the better aspects of Val Royeaux that I realized I was keeping the Inquisitor waiting.

During the course of that conversation with the Ambassador, I had reassured her that yes, other than the attack, I really did enjoy the trip overall –  the city in general looked marvelous, the cuisine was excellent, and the experience, aside from the assassination, was indeed worth it. Thankfully, this explanation seemed to do much to put Josephine’s mind at ease, and before long, we were both immersed in excited chatter about the more pleasant aspects of our excursion (mostly revolving around the food). Thus, when I finally remembered Maxwell’s request to speak with me, we both parted on much friendlier terms than when we had first departed from Lady Guillerose’s estate, and my heart felt much less like a dead weight in my chest.

The guard posted at the door to the tower said nothing as I cautiously entered. When I looked up, I saw that the winding wooden staircase hugging the outer wall and ascending upwards to the Inquisitor’s suite had been repaired in spots and reinforced in others. As I slowly began climbing, then, I noticed stonemasons and servants moving in and out of the various rooms on the way up to the Inquisitor’s more lavish chambers. I guessed they had made Maxwell’s quarters a priority, and now that they were finished with them, the laborers had at last begun work on the remaining rooms.

I was already at least halfway up this seemingly endless staircase when I suddenly remembered his Satinalia gift, left behind in my room.

Hissing out a curse, I spun on my heel and quickly descended once more, jogging through the main hall past curious courtiers, up the hall stair, and around the upper level garden walk into my room. After procuring the appropriate bag with its one present still inside, I then jogged _all the way back_.

So, by the time I finally reached Maxwell’s chamber door, I was almost too out of breath to say anything coherent at all.

 _Leliana’s right. I_ really _need to do some calisthenics…_

Lifting my hand, I knocked three times on the door’s oak surface, the sound much louder than I had first expected and echoing down the tower walls below. Almost immediately, I heard a muffled reply: “Come in. The door’s open.”

I obeyed. Climbing the last set of stairs into the Inquisitor’s quarters, I noticed Maxwell himself half-sitting on the front edge of his desk. He held a small glass of wine or brandy in hand, the Anchor reflecting a soft green against its surface. He had removed the scale-mail coat he wore during the daytime hours around Skyhold – which was in fact, the base of his usual armor – and now sported only what players lovingly referred to as the Inquisitor’s plain beige pajamas. He looked almost dwarfed by the room around him, surrounded by rich tapestries embroidered with gold, the stained glass windows of his suite casting colorful reflections on the floor and walls that reached all the way to his four-poster bed, which was draped in a crimson canopy and matching coverlet.

“Ah, there you are,” he said with a welcoming grin, remaining where he sat as he greeted me. “I was beginning to wonder.”

I dipped my head. “My apologies, Inquisitor, I was just speaking with Josephine about the trip.”

I resisted the urge to wrinkle my nose after I said it. _Their manner of speech really is rubbing off on me…_

He shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “Nonsense, I was just teasing you, Tamsyn. And I know protocol demands otherwise, but please call me Maxwell. Or Max. Or ‘you troublesome bastard,’” he added, taking a drink from his glass. “Anything but ‘Inquisitor’ and ‘Herald’ for a change. I’d like to avoid titles around here… or at least, in my own damned room.” He gestured to the divan near the stairwell, directly across the room from him. “Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

“All right, then,” I replied with a small smile at his words, letting my bag rest on the floor for now as I settled onto the cream-colored cushions. “So, are you getting used to the Inquisitor thing, by the way?”

“Honestly? I’m still not sure yet,” he said, glancing off through the nearest balcony door by the fireplace. “I never really was an authoritative person before all of this started. I’m not certain I’m living up to everyone’s expectations regarding Inquisitorial behavior. More than once, I’ve had people look at me with a bit of surprise when I introduce myself.” He returned his gaze to me as he added pointedly, “And not the good kind.”

I chuckled at that, crossing my legs and clasping my hands atop my knee. “They were probably expecting a devout and uptight Orlesian with a terrible accent and a fake halo on the back of his helmet, plastered with gold leaf. Not a down-to-earth, hardworking and honest Free Marcher like yourself, covered in blood and mud and with dents in your armor.”

“Ha!” he barked out a laugh. “Well, I must say I’d rather be a down-to-earth Marcher and remain below expectations, then.” He raised his glass to me and drained the contents. “If I ever turn into an uptight Orlesian, I’ll ask that you give me a merciful death and end both mine and everyone else’s misery.”

I couldn’t help but snort with amusement. “I see your recent promotion to the highest position of the most powerful organization in the world hasn’t stripped you of your sense of humor.”

“Not yet, thank the Maker,” he answered, setting his empty glass behind him on the desk before turning his attention back to me. “Speaking of which, you seem in much better spirits than I would have expected, considering recent events. That was what I originally wanted to talk to you about in private.”

He stood, then, nearing by a few paces and crossing his arms as he continued, “I read Leliana’s message about the attempt on your life. I just wanted to say that I am terribly sorry.” He paused. “I recall being told via raven about the attack you suffered back in Haven. Having to live with one such horrid experience is more than enough. Enduring two is… well, I cannot imagine how you must feel. For all the people saying that Andraste is guiding me, I’m beginning to think the Maker or his Bride is watching over you, as well. Not many people can say they have survived _one_ assassination attempt, much less two.”

“Yeah, I kind of have to wonder, too,” I said quietly, looking down at the toe of my boot. “But, you’re right. I do feel better,” I added, glancing back up at him. “You have very supportive people in your ranks, Maxwell. People who make you feel like you’re not shouldering your problems alone. And I’m grateful for your words and sentiments.”

He hummed. “Words only go so far, though. You should have seen Cullen when I passed the information along to him in person. I don’t think I’ve seen the man so close to actually exploding before. If I remember correctly, he was rather upset with Leliana about her decision regarding his accompanying escort.”

_Oh…_

I’d seen Cullen upset, sure, but not necessarily _that_ upset. A tiny part of me was a little curious if he would have been equally angry, or even angrier, if someone other than me had been the target…

I sighed. “Yeah… they were arguing about that not too long before the council meeting, actually.”

“I’m not surprised,” he replied with a soft chuckle. Then, after a moment, he added thoughtfully, “They are brilliant, each of them. Josephine, Cullen, Leliana, I mean. You, too, of course – you are like bits and pieces of each of them rolled into one person.”

I felt myself blushing at that.

“But with those three,” he continued, “I think their level of expertise is what makes them so volatile regarding the Inquisition’s work. They are highly defensive of their methods, each believing their way is the right one. When, in fact, none of them are wrong, necessarily. They’re simply different approaches, taken from different standpoints.”

He sighed heavily, and I watched as he turned and paced towards the fireplace, arms still crossed. “But was Leliana right to dismiss the Commander’s escort? Is Cullen right that his soldiers would have made a difference in the situation? We’ll never really know the answers to those questions. And we can’t change the past. Only move forward based on what we know occurred and resolve to make sure it never happens again.”

I felt myself smirk. “You know, you just demonstrated one of the many reasons why you’re the Inquisitor.”

“What?” he glanced over his shoulder at me, mischief glinting in his illuminated green eyes. “Imparting bits of worn-out, clichéd wisdom?”

I shook my head. “Making people move forward, regardless of how they feel about things. Just imagine. If you weren’t here, those three would probably stand around that table and bicker until they were old and grey.”

“Let’s be honest. If I wasn’t here, Cassandra wouldn’t wait for them and would try to stop Corypheus single-handedly.”

“With me trailing after her screaming that she’s doing it wrong.”

After but a moment’s silence, we both erupted into raucous laughter.

“How is she doing, by the way?” he finally asked after he recovered. “I’m afraid I haven’t yet had the time to speak with her.” He gestured to the impressive stack of parchment on the corner of his desk. “I had no idea so many things required my signature before they could be made official…”

“The Seeker’s doing well, last I checked,” I answered with a shrug. “If you can believe it, she and I have established a bit of a routine training in the mornings. She’s a great partner to learn from, for sure.”

His brows rose, possibly in a wee bit of surprise. “That’s good to hear. And I have thought about challenging her to a round or two before, myself. I might just have to do that, soon. Keep the skills sharp.”

“I think she’s over being angry at Varric, too,” I added. “She understands why he was quiet about Hawke. I think she regrets exploding at him like she did. As a matter of fact, I think she even feels a little guilty. You should talk to her about it when you get the chance.”

He nodded. “I will make note to visit her first thing tomorrow morning.”

Then, after a moment, I asked, curious, “What about Varric? How did he fare during the trip? I imagine the red lyrium thing is eating him up.”

“It is,” Maxwell confirmed, turning back from the hearth to fully face me again. “It’s apparent he was more than ready to leave all of that behind him with the death of Knight-Commander Meredith, but it keeps following him everywhere he goes like some sort of evil shadow. I know he feels partly to blame for it, too, what with his brother’s expedition and all. Like he let it loose on the world. We’ve done what we can to stop the damage in Ferelden, but I’m afraid the effects of Samson’s army are going to be permanent, unless we find some way to dissolve the stuff down to the root.” He paused, shaking his head. “If there’s any peace of mind you can offer him, I would.”

I nodded, making a mental note. “I’ll go talk to him in a bit, sure.”

“Good. Out of the comrades I took, he was the one the most morose during the journey,” Maxwell continued. “Blackwall and Vivienne fared only a little better, because they wouldn’t stop arguing the entire time.” He rolled his eyes. “Remind me not to put those two in the same party again.”

I chuckled, knowing full well their inability to get along. “I’ll try.”

“Speaking of Blackwall,” he added after a moment, brow furrowed heavily. “I’ve tried talking to him about this false Calling, but he’s been fairly tight-lipped. He hasn’t confirmed or denied experiencing it himself. Likely so he doesn’t cause alarm. I am glad he is with us, and he didn’t heed Clarel’s recall orders, whatever his reasons. I just hope he isn’t driven mad by this darkspawn call before we can stop it.”

Of course Blackwall was tight-lipped. Revealing he couldn’t actually hear the Calling was one major way his cover could be blown. Part of me wondered why Stroud hadn’t remarked on not being able to sense Blackwall during Maxwell’s meeting with him. And still another part of me wondered if Alistair would call him out on his bullshit when His Majesty finally arrived…

“That reminds me,” I said, struck by a sudden thought. “That’s another good reason for King Alistair to come to Skyhold. He can probably hear this Calling, too, even in Denerim.”

Maxwell’s brows arched high again. “Oh, dear. It’s little wonder he’s been short and vaguely hostile in communications with us, then.”

“Right,” I said. “He needs to know what’s going on, and that if he’s hearing anything, it probably isn’t the real thing, just Corypheus’s mimicry.”

“I agree. Perhaps we should even get Josephine to pen a letter. Or perhaps I should write it myself. I’ll make note of that as well.” He sighed. “So many things to think about. It’s almost more than a person can handle and keep their sanity. I presume you also know about Cullen’s lyrium situation, too?”

_Oh, that conversation’s come up, has it?_

“I do,” I replied with a nod. “He’s already been off of it for a while now, as far as I am aware. Since before the Inquisition began, I believe.”

“Right,” Maxwell said with sigh, glancing down at the floor. “He dropped that one on me yesterday. So on top of worrying about Blackwall going crazy, I have to fear for our Commander’s life, too.”

I tried to smile reassuringly, even though I knew “Perseverance” had yet to come. “You don’t have to worry too much. They’ll both come out of this all right.” Then, a little bit of concern tickling in the back of my mind, I asked, “What did you tell Cullen, by the way? When he talked to you about it, I mean?”

“I was supportive of his decision, of course,” Maxwell answered, glancing back up at me. “It is his choice. It seems a shackle holding him to a life he no longer wants. Who am I to keep him chained to it?” He paced back across the room, this time closer to the foot of his bed. “I am not entirely sure about all the nuances of lyrium addiction, but I’ve heard things, especially since the surviving Templars from Therinfal joined our ranks. I might have even taken it myself, had I continued on the path I was on before the Conclave.” He paused. “And had I done so, I might feel exactly the same way he does about it. In short, I feel have no right to judge him. But I’m still a little concerned about what sort of effect it will have on him.”

I fought to keep my surprise from showing on my face as I realized Maxwell had been on the road to become a Templar not that long ago, and he had only been stopped by the meeting of the Conclave and the subsequent events that occurred. Not that it was something completely out of left field, mind you, because the game had always implied the youngest child of Bann Trevelyan was Chantry-bound in some way. But still.

Ultimately, I merely nodded again, shifting my weight on the divan. “He’ll need all the support he can get. It gets worse before it gets better. Not that continuing to take it is the easier path, because it eventually results in much the same – madness and even death.”

“That makes me even gladder I didn’t have the chance to fully sign up with the Order,” he said, shaking his head. “And with this red lyrium nonsense on top of it? No, thank you.”

I was about to agree with him when I noticed that the lighting in the room was growing significantly pinker and more saturated in hue, and I glanced out of the windows to see a brilliant sunset that nearly blinded me where it reflected off of the metal window casement.

Maxwell followed my gaze and looked surprised. “Oh, it’s getting late, isn’t it?” Glancing back to me, he added with a friendly smile, “Well, I shouldn’t keep you, as I’m sure you have other things you wish to attend to. But it was good to catch up with you, Tamsyn, and to hear that you have recovered from your ordeal.”

“And you, Inquis-I mean, Maxwell. Thank you,” I answered with a similar broad smile, standing and picking up my bag from the floor. “But, before I go, I have a little something to give you.”

“Give me?” His brow scrunched in confusion.

I could feel my cheeks tinting pink to match the sunset. “Well, yes. See, you were gone during Satinalia. And I got you a present to give to you when you finally got back.”

His mouth dropped open a little. “Oh, my. Well, I hope you realize you certainly didn’t have to.”

“That’s what everyone else tells me,” I replied with a chuckle. “But I wanted to. Really. Hopefully, it’s something you can put to good use.”

And with that, I withdrew and extended the hexagonal mahogany box to him. He approached and took it gingerly from my hand, cocking his head at the sight of the burned map on the surface.

“This is quite intricate,” he remarked, opening it after a moment of examination. Then, when he saw the brass compass rose inside, his brows rose high. “Oh! Well, would you look at that!” He grinned broadly, turning around a bit and watching the needle move. “I had just mentioned something like this to Vivienne on the way back to Skyhold. Yes, I’m certain I can make very good use of it. We won’t be stuck with using the position of the sun in a place like the Fallow Mire anymore.” He looked back to me and closed the lid with a small _click_. “Now, if only I could have it enchanted to tell me where exactly my objective is and the secret locations of treasure stashes…”

_Talk about breaking the fourth wall, there, Max._

“If only,” I agreed, fighting to hold back my laughter, as I knew he was probably totally serious. “You know, maybe that’s something your arcanist can accomplish for you when she gets here.”

“Ha,” he laughed. “I’m mostly jesting, of course. Mostly. But thank you, Tamsyn. Truly. It is a lovely gift and I very much appreciate it.”

And with that, he held his arms out wide with a look of utter mischief on his face.

“Aww, you’re welcome, Max,” I replied, stepping into what became an absolute bear-hug. Maxwell didn’t hold back with his hugs, it seemed, and I felt like I’d been wrapped up into a tight cocoon as he picked me up a little, so that my toes were barely touching the floor. He was very warm, and he smelled like new leather and polish, with just the slightest hint of something herby. Fresh elfroot, maybe?

“Wow,” I said as he set me back down and released me. “That’s the fourth hug today. It must be my lucky day.”

He smiled warmly. “That it must. And no one had better say a word about it, either, in jealousy, jest, or otherwise. You deserve each one and more.”

We bade each other farewell, then, and the tears I felt in my eyes as I departed his room were welcome ones of happy contentment.

\------------------------------------------------------

On my way back into the great hall, I was struck by a sudden wave of fatigue. It had been a long and exhausting day; we’d just returned from our trip to Orlais that very morning, and then had a War Room meeting that afternoon. Now, after I’d finished conversing with the Inquisitor and had given him his belated Satinalia gift, part of me just wanted to go back to my room and try to get some sleep. But suppertime had yet to arrive, and there was still a never-ending list of things to do and people to talk to.

And one of them was sitting right in my line of sight.

In front of the brightly-glowing hearth near the doors, a low table had been placed for Varric, as well as two chairs – one slightly lower to accommodate the dwarf, and the other a regular-sized one for guests. Varric sat in his chair nearest the entrance, facing me, while Cullen sat across from him at the other end of the table. Both men looked just as exhausted as me as they conversed quietly, Varric shaking his head dispiritedly while Cullen leaned forward onto the table, rubbing his temples with his forefingers. There weren’t that many nobles or other people lingering in the hall, now, presumably because it was such an odd hour, so I could easily catch snippets of their conversation as I approached.

“…not your fault. You couldn’t have anticipated all this when you and your brother first found the thaig.”

“Isn’t it, though? I knew the moment we saw that red stuff down there it was going to be trouble. I could feel it in my gut. I should have just called on some contacts the instant we got back to Kirkwall and had the passageways blown to smithereens then. No, I tried to ignore it, and look what happened. First Bartrand and then Meredith went nug-shit insane. Now a darkspawn we thought was dead has somehow come back to life and is spreading it all over Thedas with the help of…” Varric trailed off as he glanced up at me with tired eyes. “Oh, hey Tamsyn.”

I smiled at him. “Hey, Varric.”

“Tamsyn,” Cullen greeted me with a respectful nod, his armor clinking a little as he shifted in his seat. “We were just discussing the progress our people have made tracking the red lyrium smuggling in Orlais. I was wondering,” he paused, glancing to Varric and then back to me, “perhaps you could shed more light on this situation?”

“Care to drag up a seat, while you’re at it?” Varric gestured at an empty chair across the hall.

“Of course,” I said with a nod, dropping my empty bag on the floor and moving to grab the chair. “I’ll tell you what I can. Although I have to say, I don’t even know all there is to know about it.”

“Great,” Varric remarked flatly.

“Are there any specific questions you have so I know where to start?” I asked as I set the chair between the two, seating myself and scooting closer to the table with the groan of wood on stone. “It’s kind of a big topic.”

Cullen chuckled lightly at that, while Varric snorted. “Yeah, tell me about it.” The dwarf sighed heavily and shook his head. “What I don’t get is how it got from that old thaig to… well, everywhere else to start with. Unless it’s not just at that thaig? Which, if that’s the case, makes this thing a lot bigger problem than I care to think about…”

I sighed myself at the question, thinking for a moment before finally answering. “I’m honestly not sure about it being in other places besides that one thaig. At least originally. That’s the only major place I know of where it comes from. Of course, you both also know about Meredith tainting the Gallows,” I looked to Cullen, who nodded in affirmation. “It’s spreading from her, too. But that’s not exactly enough to cause the major pandemic we’re seeing across Thedas, so that puts us right back at the primeval thaig.”

I leaned forward, both forearms on the table as I returned my attention to Varric. “So far as I’m aware, just as you probably have suspected, Corypheus is indeed the primary party responsible for spreading the red lyrium from that thaig. It all ties in to what we were talking about at the war table meeting earlier, and what Hawke and Stroud mentioned at Crestwood.” Pausing, I thought of how to word the explanation without revealing too much about Corypheus’s capabilities too soon. “Long story short, Corypheus survived the encounter with Hawke through his darkspawn magister powers, then got a hold of information about the thaig’s location, studied it, went crazy with red lyrium enhancements to bolster his own power, and then began to use it as a tool for his own ends, sharing the location with his henchmen, who’ve begun digging the stuff up for him.”

“So he did indeed cause the red lyrium to appear at the Temple of Sacred Ashes?” Cullen asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“ _Gah_ ,” Varric hissed his frustration, wiping one gloved hand down his face. “But who would have told _him_ about it? Most people I know who went on that expedition swore they’d never talk about it again. And I didn’t have to _ask_ them to do it, either. That’s how bad it was.”

I took a breath, sparing another glance to Cullen, whose brow rose inquisitively. “I’ll just say this. Talk to your girlfriend.”

At that, Varric’s eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and his hands fell limply to the table’s surface with a hollow _thud_. “You’re shitting me. You’ve got to be shitting me. _Bianca_ did this?”

Cullen looked confused for a moment, but then he shook his head rapidly as if to clear it. Probably because he didn’t know Bianca was more than just a crossbow.

“Not on purpose, no,” I clarified with a point of my finger for emphasis. “That’s an important thing to note: It’s an accident on her part. An innocent mistake.” I felt myself grimace a little as I continued, “But yes, unfortunately, she enabled it. Like I said, you need to talk to her. The sooner the better. Everything will be made clear once you do, and you’ll also get an important clue as to how Corypheus started walking around again after you and Hawke thought he was dead.”

Varric ran both hands through his hair. “Andraste’s _tits_. As if things couldn’t get any worse.” Then, after a moment, he took a deep breath and grabbed a clean leaf of parchment from a large stack near his elbow, setting it before him as though he were about to pen his own epitaph. “Looks like I need to write a letter, then.”

Cullen was silent at his end of the table, though I could see the gears working behind his eyes, his fingertips absently drumming atop his own pile of reports that he had yet to take back to his office tower. I wondered what exactly the Commander was thinking of, but I didn’t ask.

Maybe how to destroy the thaig?

“It’s still not your fault, Varric,” I said after a moment, hoping to sound reassuring.

“The shit it’s not,” he grumbled as he unstoppered his inkwell. “I was the one who told Bianca about the thaig, and I was the one who started digging around when those Carta bastards went after Hawke. If I’d just kept my mouth shut and convinced Hawke to move away or something, none of this would have ever happened…”

I sighed heavily while Cullen’s lips pressed together, and the Commander’s firelit amber stare dropped to the table’s surface for a moment.

“You know,” I began quietly, “There’s a saying where I come from that I think you should keep in mind, Varric. Well, all of us should, really. Even me.”

“Oh? And what’s that, Fortune Teller?” he asked without looking up, picking up his quill and dipping it into his ink.

“Shit happens.”

\------------------------------------------------------

After Varric, Cullen, and I quietly parted ways, I returned to my room at last, honestly considering forgoing supper to go to bed early. But I remembered Lea would be bringing food very soon, and so I waited, only pulling off my boots and gloves to get comfortable before she arrived.

Finally, a rapid knock came upon my door before Lea herself entered the room at last, a tray in her hand.

“I’ve got supper!” she announced, smiling warmly as she kicked the door shut behind her.

Whatever it was, I could smell it already, and my stomach began to growl. “It smells delicious. What is it?”

“Potato soup,” she said with a grin. “We’ve got very nearly too many potatoes in the larder now, so the kitchen staff decided to do something about that.”

“Oh, I see,” I replied. I was actually rather eager to try it. After two weeks of a strange blend of fancy Orlesian fare and soldier rations, I was ready for something more wholesome to eat.

She set the tray down next to me on the bed and seated herself at her usual spot closer to the end, lifting the ventilated lids on two small stoneware pots just big enough to hold a serving of soup. Little silverware spoons had already been put inside, and next to both were two small cups of ale.

“This should cheer you up,” Lea remarked, picking up her bowl. “Soup always makes me feel better.”

I nodded in agreement as I took my bowl in hand and cautiously took the first bite – a little one to keep from burning myself. Just that little taste, though, nearly knocked me over with how good it was. Even after all the fancier meals I had in Orlais, nothing could beat the wonderful simplicity of potato soup. I discerned leeks and possibly some sort of shallot, too, butter and maybe chicken stock, and there was a little bit of a tangy bite on the aftertaste that I couldn’t quite place. But it was deliciously addictive, and I couldn’t stop myself from digging right in, even with it still piping hot.

“ _Mm_. This is amazing.”

She chuckled, her own spoon halfway to her mouth. “I’ll be sure to pass along your compliment to Cook next time I see her. The recipe is one that’s been in her family, she says.”

I remembered we had been in the process of transitioning to a new cook not long after we had arrived at Skyhold. Flissa had passed her duties off to another, as her interest was now in matters of faith instead of tavern work; the last time I had seen her, she was donning a Chantry sister’s habit and had begun working with the herbalists and gardeners.

We ate in silence for several moments after that, enjoying the warm and delightful soup, until Lea finally asked, “So, did I ever tell you how I joined the Inquisition?”

“No, I don’t believe you did,” I said between bites, a little surprised at her question. It was strange that we hadn’t covered this topic yet, after all the meals and card games we’d shared. I had simply supposed she was a servant of someone who had been in Haven – perhaps even of someone who had died at the Conclave – and had been offered a position when the Inquisition first started. But I’d never thought to ask about it, and she had never offered the story until now.

She set her bowl aside. “Would you care to hear it?”

“Of course,” I replied, thoroughly curious now.

She huffed out a sigh as she began, “Well, you probably already know, but for most of my life, I’ve been a servant. I was born in the Bannorn of Ferelden, where my parents served Lord and Lady Allen. They weren’t too high up on the nobility ladder. Just enough to own their own land and pay for servants to help them with it. They were childless, you see, and as they aged, they relied on hired help to maintain their house and fields.”

She paused, her gaze fixed on the wall ahead. “I grew up an only child. So we were fairly tight-knit. Lord Allen was a bit… _traditional_ about elves, but over the years, he became rather attached to the three of us, in his own way. Lady Allen grew into something of a grandmother to me. Probably because she’d never been able to have children of her own. She taught me to read. She would also let me play with her makeup sometimes.” A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the memory. “It would make Lady Allen laugh, but mother would be so angry because she would have to scrub my face to get it all off.”

Her expression quickly turned solemn again. “But then, when I was about eight years old, two years before the Blight, a bad fever went through. Mother and Father died of it, and so did Lord Allen. It left me and Lady Allen alone in that big house. I grieved, of course. Terribly so. But Lady Allen?” She glanced back to me and shook her head sadly. “She _wilted_. That’s the only way I can describe it. She aged ten years in one. Almost before my very eyes. I…” she rubbed her arm absently with one hand. “I had to grow up fast after that, push my own grief behind me and take up the responsibilities left behind.”

I was silent as I finished my soup, not making a sound as I set the empty bowl back on the tray and took my ale cup in hand, listening intently to her words.

“All the minor chores I did as a child were multiplied tenfold as I had to do what mother did, too – laundry, dishes, housecleaning, shopping. Lady Allen helped with cooking and cleaning as much as she was able, but after a few years, she became too frail and shaky to handle hot things. First, she had to have help dressing. And then bathing.”

She sighed again, looking down at the floor. “All the while, she withdrew from public life and isolated herself, especially during the Blight year. She barely spoke, even to me. She ate less and less and became little more than a sack of bones. She would smile at me from time to time, but mostly she was always immersed in her grief, looking blankly out of her bedroom window. Taking her meals only when she had to. Reading the Chant.”

Lea paused and swallowed, and I could see emotion brimming in her large eyes. “It took me a while to fully understand, but I did. Life had denied her children, a growing family which she always wanted. And then it took her husband and companions from her, too. I tried everything I could to help her. I read other books aloud to her. I tried to engage her in games like cards and chess. She was all I had left, and I wanted desperately for her to come back from this dark hole she’d sunk into. But it was no use. I might as well have been alone in that big house.”

She looked back to me as she continued, “The only time she emerged after that was to go to Divine Justinia’s Conclave, twelve years after the fever. As soon as she heard about it through the crier, she wanted to go.” She shook her head. “There was such conviction in her eyes, and I don’t know why. I still don’t. I knew she was a devout Andrastian, of course, but the mages and Templars hadn’t bothered us at the time. Still, she insisted on going, as if it was detrimental for her not to do so, and I started to think she felt the need to seek an audience with Most Holy. That maybe Her Perfection could give her guidance. Or maybe that she wanted to pledge herself to the Chantry in her waning years.”

“Anyway, she paid for a carriage,” Lea said, “and she told me to come with her. But when we arrived at Haven, she wouldn’t let me go to the Temple. She told me to stay behind in the village. That it was for the best. The way she looked at me… I think she _knew_. I think she knew something bad was going to happen, and that she might die at that Temple. And I think she wanted it. To die at one of the holiest places of the faith. Because there was nothing left for her in this world.”

She fell silent for several moments after that, during which I quietly sipped the last of my ale. Then, she mused aloud, “Sometimes I wonder if she had a dream. A vision or a premonition of some kind. Sort of like you.”

My brows rose, and I set the cup down on the tray.

“The point is,” she shook her head, putting one hand to her forehead, “I watched one of the best humans I’d ever known wither away from a darkness that consumed her from within. And sometimes I see that darkness eating at you, too.” She took my hands in both of hers. “So, please… talk to me. Whenever you feel sad, or angry, or overwhelmed, or scared… _talk to me_. I don’t want the same thing that happened to Lady Allen to happen to you, Tamsyn.”

I blinked. Well, that explained a lot.

I smiled, “All right, Lea. I promise I’ll talk to you. You have my word.”

She smiled back, obviously pleased at my response. “Good. Even if all I can offer is a sympathetic ear, I’ll gladly give it for your sake. Don’t forget that.”

And with that, she rose, took the tray of empty dishes, and departed the room for the kitchens once more, leaving me alone again to my thoughts.


	39. Chapter 39

The next day, even as exhausted as I was from all the travel I had just endured, I tried my best to resume the routines I had established before the trip to Val Royeaux. I was of the mind that the sooner I threw myself into the old and familiar, the faster I would recover from the whole ordeal.

And so far, the strategy was working.

The biggest distraction I had, of course, was in the form of Cassandra. Continuing our practice schedule was surprisingly good for me, because for the duration of our sparring matches, I could think of absolutely nothing else but how _not_ to get cracked over the head with a giant stick.

Cassandra was more aggressive and offensive than she was defensive, which made it easy for me to slip into pure defensiveness myself. But I remembered how the fight had gone down between the Harlequin and me at the Guillerose estate, and I resolved I wouldn’t let myself be put in that position so easily.

She wasn’t sparring with a shield today, so that helped.

Anytime she lunged for me, I would lunge right back, and though she was quick and well-aware of what I was trying to do, I actually managed to land a few hits on her legs and hips… which was much better than I had fared before our jaunt to Orlais. I still didn’t do too well avoiding her attacks, though, and she landed a great many stinging retaliatory smacks on my own thighs and torso – sharp reminders not to revel in my victories too much.

Yet, despite getting hit quite often, I found the whole thing almost fun, in a way. Indeed, both of us were fighting to keep from perpetually grinning as we kept dancing around each other, looking for openings and hoping to provoke more to appear…

Even though the air of Skyhold couldn’t be called warm by any means, by the time we tired ourselves out enough to take a break, sweat was beading up and glistening on our brows. Anytime the cool breeze hit my damp forehead, it felt absolutely wonderful – refreshing and soothing.

“I am going… for water,” Cassandra eventually panted out, tossing her practice staff on the ground with a dull _thud_. “I’ll be… right back…”

I merely nodded my response as she walked away and tossed my own practice weapons down beside hers, putting my hands on my hips as I swallowed. The sensation was very nearly painful. My tongue and throat both were parched from breathing through my mouth for so long.

It was then I heard a familiar _clink_ of metal against metal, and I glanced up to see Cullen leaning against the armory wall, his arms crossed. I hadn’t even noticed him standing there before now. Probably because of the overwhelming distraction that was Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast.

I could feel my cheeks reddening in embarrassment. How long had he been watching us?

“I’ve never seen you spar so relentlessly before,” he remarked, unmoving.

One brow rose. “You watch me train, do you?”

He smirked, and his response was a mischievous one that almost gave me shivers with its tone. “On occasion.”

I glanced away briefly. A few moments of silence after that, and then…

“This is because of the attack, isn’t it?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” My attention snapped back to him.

“The attack in Val Royeaux,” he elaborated, gaze meeting mine. “You’ve a new drive to better yourself as a preventative. Or to forget. Or both.”

I felt my brows furrow together, then. But I couldn’t say he was wrong. If he was the hammer to whom every situation appeared as a nail, as Josephine would put it, then he had probably just hit two nails right on the head in one breath.

I had no answer for him and only looked down at the ground between my booted toes. That was enough time for him to push off from the wall and approach, though, and when I looked up again, he was only a pace or two away.

“You said you know about what I endured at Kinloch,” he began quietly, glancing off in the direction Cassandra had taken. “But how much?”

I cocked my head curiously at the same time I felt my eyes widen a little. Why was he bringing this up _now_ , of all times?

“Not the details,” I admitted at length. “But enough I think I can guess with a fair amount of accuracy.”

He let out a long breath through his nose, not looking back at me. “In short I… felt helpless. During and after. All of my defenses were stripped away. All of my means of fighting back were taken from me.” He paused, and I could see his throat bobbing as he swallowed, his eyes distant. “I couldn’t protect myself, much less anyone else. And when it was over, I never wanted to feel so helpless again. So vulnerable.”

He glanced back to me. “And so I believe I understand how you feel and where all of this energy is coming from. But just a word of advice, from someone who has experienced much the same as you have,” he clapped a hand firmly to my shoulder so he had my full attention. “Don’t fall into the trap of thinking your self-improvement alone is a deterrent against future attacks. Working yourself so intensely may be cathartic for you right now, and it may be good for your overall well-being in the long run, but it won’t necessarily stop anything from happening to you again. Don’t let yourself believe that.”

Sudden movement from over his shoulder signaled Cassandra’s return, and as he looked back to see the Seeker’s approach, he nodded to me and removed his hand.

“What it _can_ do, however, and what you should focus on, is making you better prepared if it _does_ happen again,” he said.

“Commander,” Cassandra acknowledged as she passed him with a small smile of greeting, taking a drink from a full waterskin before passing it to me. I eagerly took a deep swig from it with a nod of appreciation. Interestingly, I seemed to have lost all previous inhibitions about drinking after people. Probably because it was proof whatever it was I was drinking hadn’t been poisoned.

Which was a little on the sad side.

“I’m thinking, Tamsyn, that perhaps you should try your skills against Cullen, if he has time to spare,” the Seeker suggested after I passed the waterskin back to her.

 _Oh, you’ve_ got _to be kidding me…_

“That’s, uh,” I began with a nervous laugh, desperately trying to avoid both their gazes. “That’s probably not the best of ideas, Seeker.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cullen said with a small smile that made my heart do a tiny little flip in my chest. “I have the time. And if I can teach you just one thing, it will be well worth the effort expended.”

“Come now,” Cassandra encouraged. “You should mix up your training a bit. The Commander and I don’t have the same styles, and it will be good for you to change tactics in relatively quick succession. You may not have the luxury of facing just one opponent in the field.”

“Um… all right…” I began, cautiously picking up the practice weapons that imitated my shortsword and dagger in length. I’d been messing around with using a half-assed dual-weapon style of fighting even before Haven fell, but it seemed I’d adopted it in full, now, ultimately more comfortable with two blades in my hands instead of keeping one free. My dagger hand never did see much action, but it was there if I ever saw an opportunity arise…

Cullen shrugged off his coat, tossed it atop her stool, and picked up Cassandra’s abandoned practice stick. “Ready?”

I nodded, sighing heavily in an attempt to throw off my anxiety. “As I’ll ever be.”

It was apparent from the outset that Cullen would be much more difficult to read.

Unlike Cassandra, who liked to overwhelm her opponents with aggressive and yet calculated precision, Cullen occupied a strange middle ground – close enough to strike as needed but far enough away to back off in plenty of time to dodge an attack. His stance was much the same, neither hunkered down low nor upright with too much confidence. On top of that, he seemed to favor switching back and forth between offensive pressing and defensive luring, and it was difficult to tell when one tactic transitioned into the other. One moment, he would seem to be waiting for me to make the next move. The next, he would be inciting it from me.

On the other hand, just like Cassandra, he wielded the larger practice staff with surprising ease. Despite the difference in weapon size and weight, the both of them were not one bit slower than me. If anything, they were _faster_ , lightning reflexes nothing but a blur and difficult to keep up with. Anytime I thought I found an opening, it would be shut off mid-swing and I’d end up with my forearms or shoulders smacked. _Hard_.

Also just like Cassandra, his presence caused me to completely miss the fact I had another audience member, this time in the form of his trusty Knight-Captain.

Fifteen minutes later and no ground had been gained on my part whatsoever. Cullen didn’t seem interested in putting me flat on my ass in the dirt, but neither was he giving me any slack. I had yet to poke a hole in his strategy, and so instead of ending up smiling like I had with Cassandra, I felt my brow furrowed hard and deep from trying to solve this endless puzzle.

Both Rylen and Cassandra were watching me, and as Cullen readied his guard again, I saw Rylen gesture for me with one hand, a report book held in the other.

“C’mere, Tamsyn,” he said, a wry smile on his face.

Cullen snorted, relaxing. “Cheating, are we?”

“I prefer _training_ , Commander,” the Knight-Captain replied as I neared him, which resulted in Cullen rolling his eyes. I fought the urge to laugh, drawing up beside him and wondering what he wanted. He then held up his report book to hide both our faces and lowered his voice.

“Look, you’re being too careful,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I know you don’t want to bash his pretty face in, but you’re going to have to do something unexpected if you want results.”

My eyes widened. “ _Rylen!_ ”

“Hush, lass, and listen.” He shook his head. “He’s beating you because you’re going for typical places you’ve been told to target in training. Stop being careful with him. He’s not made of glass.”

“But…”

“ _Shh!_ You want to end this quick?” he leaned closer, so not even Cassandra could hear him, and his stormy eyes were bright. “Feint for his privates and then when he tries to protect his man-bits, go in for the kill.”

I blinked at him. Dirty fighting. And stupid, far too typical dirty fighting, to boot. Would Cullen even fall for something that dumb? That was probably the first thing they taught them in Templar training – watch out for your privates because someone will want to take a cheap shot.

_But maybe if he’s not expecting it from you…_

“That’s _cheap_ ,” I hissed back, giving voice to my thoughts.

“That’s _winning_ ,” Rylen replied with a knowing smirk, lowering the reports and backing away from me. “Go on, give it a try. You’ve got nothing to lose, aye?”

 _Only my dignity_ , I thought sourly.

Sighing, I strode back to where Cullen stood waiting, completely oblivious to what Rylen had suggested I do.

Or was he?

Shaking my head, I readied myself. I couldn’t do the maneuver from the outset… It would be far too easy to block, as two-step moves had become rather predictable from me.

Instead, I feinted both for his side, _then_ his groin, with a plan to add a third blow in a row.

As I suspected, Cullen’s lightning reflexes successfully responded to both the first and the second feint, blocking attack from both of those directions. But while his weapon was occupied from the second parry, it left me a split second to add a third movement…

…which left my practice weapons crossed at his throat.

“ _Whooooo!_ ” Rylen whooped, laughing and clapping while Cassandra shook her head slowly, though she did smile broadly at me, too. I couldn’t help but feel just a tad bit smug, myself, a grin pulling at my own lips

The brief look of surprise on Cullen’s face was quickly replaced by amusement. Or was that…?

“ _Wha-Ahh!_ ”

In the space of one second, I was crashing onto my back, the air _whooshing_ from my lungs, and I found myself looking up at him, open-mouthed, from my position on the hard and cold ground.

And this time it was _his_ practice weapon pointed straight at _my_ throat.

“Yield.”

I dropped my own weapons, hands in the air, bearing nothing but an apologetic, nervous grin, while I heard Rylen positively cackling behind me.

\------------------------------------------------------

We parted ways soon after that, with me surely blushing as scarlet as my sash, judging from how hot my cheeks felt. Embarrassment about more than one thing swirled within me along with a mix of other emotions, some of which I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

I washed up back in my room to make myself somewhat presentable again. Though I didn’t bother with makeup, I did wear my hair in the new style I’d been given by Jean-Marc. I liked it so much, I was planning on keeping it that way for the foreseeable future. No hat, of course, so as to show it off. I was rather tired of wearing the fuzzy pillbox anyway.

I had, however, returned to wearing my breastplate for the time being, and my shortsword and dagger were now always strapped to my person again, just as they had been at Haven. I had to keep reminding myself, just as I had reminded Josephine, that none of us were truly out of danger, even at Skyhold, no matter how the ancient walls and the presence of all the soldiers made us feel.

I didn’t want to live in constant fear, and yet I couldn’t let myself think for one minute that no one would be able to slip into our formidable new stronghold. Because as possible events for both Iron Bull and Josephine suggested, assassins were indeed capable of infiltrating the castle, no matter how many security measures were taken. And if even more safeguards were put in place, more than those extant in the plot I knew, then would-be attackers might take more desperate measures themselves rather than be deterred – something which reinforced Leliana’s point of view…

How Josephine endured the reality of things like this with such aplomb, I would never know. She dealt with it in a way unlike either Leliana or Cullen, with reliance on her wits and silver tongue instead of physical weapons and practically no fear of harm to herself. I wished I had her guts and optimism.

Perhaps I needed to talk to her about it, sometime, when she had the chance.

I shook my head to clear it as I walked back into the main hall on the second floor, spotting Vivienne’s sunlight-backed silhouette moving near the balcony windows. She hadn’t been there an hour earlier, but now she was back, and she looked up at me with a smile as she saw me round the corner.

“Good day, Tamsyn. How are you, my dear?” she said, marking her place in a rather large book she held.

I paused to return her greeting. “Very well, thank you. And you?”

“Much the same,” she replied, setting the book aside on an end table. “I saw you sparring with Cassandra and Cullen earlier, and I must say, I applaud you for your efforts. You must be exhausted after facing off against those two.” She gestured at a chair opposite her daybed. “Would you care to put up your feet for a moment and share a bit of tea and biscuits with me? I’ve just prepared a fresh pot.”

I was a bit surprised at the invitation. No doubt the subsequent conversation would hold some sort of criticism.

Despite my sinking feeling about it, however, I felt I couldn’t do anything but politely accept her offer. “I’d love to,” I said, dipping my head graciously. My breakfast _had_ worn off rather quickly after training…

“Wonderful,” she said, her smile broadening as she moved to another table in the corner of her little loft. “I just had a shipment of some of my favorite brew arrive this morning.”

“Oh?” my brows rose in curiosity. “What kind is it?”

“It is a spiced Rivaini blend,” she replied, picking up a plain wooden box with slender fingers and examining the container. “Empress Celene popularized this particular tea in the Orlesian Court, so it is much easier to obtain than it used to be.”

She then picked up a white porcelain teapot, decorated with painted pink and lilac flowers and gold trim, and poured some of the aforementioned tea into two delicate matching cups on thin saucers.

“One lump of sugar, or two?” she asked as she set the pot aside.

“Two please,” I answered. I liked my tea sweet.

“Of course.”

She prepared both cups with sugar, set a few small tea cookies on each saucer, and then approached, handing me my cup before perching on the edge of her daybed across from me.

“This smells wonderful,” I said as I took the cup in hand, the steam visibly curling upwards from the dark tea within.

“Doesn’t it? Although it doesn’t taste quite the same, I’m afraid. But such is the way with most things.”

We both took sips. Just as she suggested, the tea itself wasn’t nearly as flavorful as it was aromatic, but I could taste the hints of clove, cinnamon, and ginger, and maybe even something a tad peppery.

“I am glad to see you training with our best, by the way,” she added, setting her cup back down on her saucer with a slight _clink_. “They are our elite for a reason, and though you may be taking a bit of their time, it will be worth it, in the end, I think.”

As I set my own cup down, I mulled over her words and I couldn’t say I disagreed with her. But before I could reply to her comment, she continued, “Just remember that weapons and armor are not your only defense. Your wardrobe can be just as effective.”

That made me pause with a cookie midair. “My wardrobe?”

_How did I not see this coming?_

“Oh, yes,” she said with a slight nod, as if her suggestion were obviously true. “A poisonous frog may bear colorful and distinctive markings to warn predators. A brightly-colored plant may indicate toxicity or attract victims to its carnivorous maw. Similarly, what you choose to wear in public may serve a similar purpose – a warning and deterrent to would-be attackers, physical or otherwise…” she trailed as she picked up a biscuit between two fingers. “Or a lure for your prey.”

I was silent just long enough to chew the sweet little butter cookie and swallow before I answered half-skeptically, “So, are you suggesting I wear bright colors like a frog?”

Whether her lip curled in annoyance or amusement, I wasn’t quite certain. “No. I am suggesting you wear attire that has _meaning_.” She took another sip of her tea. “The swords hanging at Cassandra and Cullen’s hips are a clear declaration they know how to use them. They would not wear them otherwise. They send the message that anyone who would stand against them will face competent wielders and will likely have their heads removed. They suggest _power_.” She crossed her legs and leaned back in her seat, looking much like a queen on a throne. “Wear all of your clothing as you would a sword, as a demonstration of your own power.”

After sipping at my tea again, I shook my head, brow furrowed. “But I don’t really have any power. Not that I’d like to advertise _that_ obviously, at least.”

“And that is where we must change things,” she replied. “In short, we must alter this belief that you are an easy target – an average person whose death poses no risk to anyone who attacks you – and we need to do it quickly. If we are to convince others you have been blessed by the Maker with the knowledge you have, then just like the Inquisitor, we must make you _appear_ as though you are.” Her brow rose over the rim of her cup. “Perception, darling, is everything, and the perception others apparently have of you is that you are more of a weak link than you are a strength at this point. It is apparent you must work on both your deportment _and_ your apparel, in addition to your skills.”

_Shit…_

I sighed, lowering my saucer to my knee to rest it there. “Well, we already visited Lady Guillerose in Val Royeaux for the sole purpose of bettering our wardrobes, so maybe that will help.”

“Perhaps,” she mused, her tone certainly one of cynicism as she took a second biscuit in hand. “We shall see.”

My brow rose. “Am I sensing a dislike for her designs, Madame Vivienne?”

She set the cookie back down. “At one time, Ysabelle might have been considered the best in the city, and perhaps even in the entire Empire. Though I daresay she’s lost her edge in her waning years. As I said, we shall see. Though I have a feeling we will need to make other arrangements in the future.”

_Oh, boy…_

Somehow I didn’t think being caught between Josephine and Vivienne in a fashion war was going to be very pleasant.

\------------------------------------------------------

My pen moved across the page swiftly as the words spilled from my head to the parchment:

_Dear Lady Ysabelle Guillerose,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, and that your tasks for the Inquisition have not presented problems for either you or your guildsmen. I realize you probably did not expect correspondence from me, but I must admit that, in the week since my visit to your estate, my conscience has been plaguing me._

_Firstly, I would like to thank you for the swift response of yourself and your retainers to the intruder at your estate during the Inquisition’s recent visit. Had you and your guardsmen not intervened as quickly as you did, I fear the outcome of the assault would have been far worse. I will always be grateful for your help and your aid in the subsequent investigation. I am in your debt._

_Secondly, I would like to apologize for my rude behavior following the attack. You were undeserving of such disrespect, especially after so graciously hosting us and assisting us in important Inquisition matters. I did not behave as a representative of the Inquisition should, and for that, I am deeply sorry. I sincerely hope you can forgive me._

_Thank you again for your aid. I look forward to representing your guild at Halamshiral, and I do hope our paths cross again._

_Cordially,_

_Inquisition Advisor Tamsyn Ashworth_

After I waited for the ink to dry, I sighed heavily, folded the letter, and then sealed it, to be taken by courier to the rookery for delivery. The discussion I had with Vivienne over tea reminded me that there was one other person to whom I had acted somewhat rudely in Val Royeaux, and to whom I had yet to send proper apologies in order to (hopefully) rectify the situation. I wasn’t certain if Lady Guillerose would be as understanding as Josephine had been, but I had to try. It was only right.

Lea was busy in the kitchens again, and so I had to leave my room to find a messenger to hand the letter to. I passed by a few maids emptying and cleaning Maxwell’s old chambers as I did so, realizing there was now a vacancy for guests. Part of me wondered when we would all be moving from these rooms to the Inquisitor’s tower – as grateful as I was for the space I had, it was hard not to feel like I was sleeping in a prison cell every night, what with the one small window and the sparse furnishings.

After finally finding a courier in the main hall, I continued out into the courtyard and headed for the stables to pay a visit to Zaira. The stubborn old horse was growing on me, as annoying as she was sometimes, and I needed to continue to try and bond with her in hopes of earning her trust. She was, after all, my very first horse and one of Dennet’s prized mounts – I wasn’t going to ignore her or neglect her just because I didn’t like her personality.

When I arrived at the stable, I noticed the apple stock was running a bit low, so I held off on cutting her one and instead hoped she would come to the stall door without having to be bribed. But just as luck would have it, she was already there, almost propping her chin on the door as she looked out.

“Hey girl,” I said softly, and she looked at me sideways as I approached, one ear flicking at me.

“You gonna be good?” I asked, tentatively reaching up for her forehead with a gloved hand.

Astonishingly, she didn’t back away from me and instead simply huffed a little as I rubbed the swirly patch of fur under her forelock, the pattern almost like a cowlick.

“There’s a good girl,” I praised her, patting her elegant neck with the other hand. “That’s a very good girl. You must be in a good mood today, huh?”

That was when she lowered her head and began sniffing and nipping at my clothes.

“No, I don’t have any- _hey!_ ” She nudged me rather forcefully. “No, Zaira, I don’t have – _ow!_ – No treats!”

And now _I_ was the one backing away from _her_ as she nibbled at my sash, trying to find some secret stash of food in my jacket. That was when Blackwall poked his head around the corner where the hay barn connected to the stable, a look of curiosity on his face.

“Oh, it’s you. I thought I heard a voice in here.”

“Yeah, just me,” I said, jerking a thumb at the mare, who was doing her best to put on an innocent face. “Been trying to connect a little with my new mount.”

“Zaira, isn’t it? One of the Taslins?” he said, casting his squinted gaze to the Antivan-blooded horse as he leaned on the doorway with one hand.

“That’s her,” I confirmed with a sigh.

He chortled. “She’s a handful, all right. Spoiled rotten and used to it.”

“Tell me about it,” I said flatly. Zaira looked unamused.

“You should meet old Storm,” he said, pushing off and walking past me, gesturing for me to follow him. “He’s got a much better attitude.”

I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue at Zaira as I left her behind and tailed Blackwall.

“Your horse?” I asked.

“He is,” he affirmed. “Only a year younger than Zaira, according to Dennet. Forder from south Ferelden. Someone sold him off when they couldn’t afford his upkeep anymore. The Blight hit, and a lot of farms never recovered. The big animals were the first to go.”

Almost as if on cue, out of a stall door next to the end of the aisle emerged a large convex profile that belonged to a dapple-grey horse. His short-cropped mane was charcoal, almost black, and a large white blaze was splashed down his face like a paint splatter, ending at his pink muzzle. He was positively adorable-looking.

“Aww, hello Storm!” I said as I approached, leaning one shoulder on the framework next to him. The horse blinked with big, heavy-lashed blue eyes. He seemed very calm.

“Hey there, old man,” Blackwall greeted him, rubbing on either side of the mount’s thick neck with vigorous strokes, and Storm happily closed his eyes. “It’s a good day, eh? A very good day.”

It was then I felt something bump my butt from behind, and I yelped in surprise, causing Storm to start a bit. Whirling around, I expected to catch a glimpse of some cheeky stablehand, but instead saw a familiar face…

“Dane!” I exclaimed, reaching to hug the big horse’s neck where he stretched over his stall door to get my attention.

“Ha!” Blackwall barked out a laugh as he lightly petted Storm’s velvety muzzle, calming him down again. “He’s the Commander’s horse, isn’t he?”

“He is,” I said, playfully ruffling the gelding’s coarse, raven-black mane.

“He looks more like yours,” Blackwall observed.

“Ah, I just spoil him with pats, that’s all,” I said, smiling warmly at the black warhorse. “He’s an attention hog, I think. Aren’t you?” I asked, but Dane only snorted in response, nudging gently at my stomach. I briefly felt a twinge of guilt and glanced over in Zaira’s direction, wondering if she felt any jealousy, but the mare had disappeared within her stall. Knowing her, she probably preferred her seclusion.

“So, Tamsyn? I have a question,” Blackwall said at length, stepping away from Storm.

“Hmm? Fire away.”

“This Calling the Wardens are hearing,” he began. “It _is_ false, isn’t it? Corypheus’s doing?”

I took a step back from Dane and put my hands on my hips. “It is.”

Blackwall growled. “As if we needed another reason to hate him. Now he’s trying to destroy the world’s greatest heroes by playing on their fears?” He shook his head. “We can’t let that stand.”

“We’re not,” I replied, glancing at the not-Warden. “I already filled in the War Council about it, and they’re preparing to handle the situation.”

I paused, thinking. I honestly didn’t want to go through that whole explanation again with Blackwall, especially knowing that he wasn’t a real Grey Warden, and so none of it truly mattered for him anyway outside of helping him play pretend… something with which I didn’t want to assist any more than I already was.

You know, by keeping his giant secret still secret.

“It’s a long story I actually don’t care to repeat, so you should probably go to the Inquisitor if you want to know the details,” I continued at last. “He fears for your sanity anyway, so you could likely kill two birds with one stone by talking to him yourself.”

“Maxwell needn’t worry himself,” Blackwall replied gruffly. “Corypheus will have no influence on me, this I swear.”

 _Yeah, you bet your ass he won’t_ , I thought. _Because you’re not a damned Warden_. How funny – a truth out of a lie. I knew I probably shouldn’t, but I couldn’t resist commenting on that remark, because Blackwall needed to think really long and hard about the fact I probably wasn’t duped by his charade, and I alone was keeping his lie under wraps for his own sake.

“No, he won’t,” I said, meeting his eyes. “He never will. Because you’re not like the other Wardens.”

I paused, letting it sink in. Blackwall’s brow furrowed a little.

“One of a kind, as it were,” I added, my gaze unwavering.

“Tamsyn?” he started slowly, his tone a questioning one, but also almost like a warning.

I waved my hand dismissively, turning to leave the stable and head back for the keep. “Like I said, go talk to Max. Make both of you feel better,” I replied. “Later, Dane. Blackwall.”

And with that, I decided to leave Thom Rainier to his brooding thoughts.

\------------------------------------------------------

The following morning, Maxwell was to finally deliver his first official judgments as Inquisitor, and the list of prisoners was a bit longer than the one I knew at this stage of the game.

The furniture in the main hall had been pushed aside, making the center of the room a long, bare stone walk to the Inquisitor’s dais and throne. As soon as the people of the castle heard about the arrangements for the day, they began gathering early to get a good position, crowding into the sides of the hall and gossiping about the coming show.

Unlike in the game, Josephine had apparently demanded each of the advisors’ presence at Maxwell’s side while he offered his remarks and ultimate judgments to Skyhold’s prisoners. We stood to the side and slightly behind his throne even before his arrival, suggesting to all witnesses to the proceedings that he was not alone in his decisions, and that they would be backed with every power at our disposal, military or otherwise. I imagined we looked quite the sight, flanking the imposing sword-adorned throne and backlit by the bright sun streaming through the high, stained glass window. Splashes of its colors were painted on our clothes and hair and the very floor around us, and Cullen’s armor in particular was rather blinding, reflecting the light with its high polish.

Josephine, with her hair in a high twist with the butterfly pins I had given her, lingered closer to Maxwell’s right-hand side than Leliana, who stood with her hands behind her back near one of the windows. On the Inquisitor’s left, I stood opposite Josephine, while Cullen took his place slightly behind me and closer to the wall, like the Nightingale. I had debated on what to wear to this event, but I ultimately chose to stick with my uniform… obviously armed and armored, but hatless like the day before. I did, however, have makeup on this time – the same I had worn in Val Royeaux – of which both Josephine and Leliana seemed to quietly approve, judging from their small smiles cast in my direction.

As we waited for Maxwell and his soldier escorts to officially enter the main hall and begin the judgment proceedings, Josephine whispered to Leliana while Cullen and I remained relatively silent on the other side of the throne. All off-duty Skyhold staff was in attendance, including Lea. She waved at me from the middle of the hall, peering over a man’s shoulder, and I waved back with a slight smile. Peppered in between the soldiers and servants were nobles and dignitaries from almost all nations. Heavily-perfumed Orlesian ladies whispered behind masks and fluttering lace fans. Fur-clad Fereldan landholders stood with arms crossed, speaking out of the corners of their mouths. Mother Giselle and her fellow sisters attended as well, hugging the walls of the hall, while Maxwell’s companions occupied the shadows at the back of the assembly, Bull’s form towering over all.

“I should warn you,” Cullen’s voice was quiet behind me, drawing my attention away from the growing crowd.

“Hmm?” I asked, glancing backwards. I was momentarily distracted by the sunlight playing in his hair and making it shine like gold.

He took a step nearer, his scabbard clinking softly with his movement. “Butler and the Orlesian maids are up today.”

“Oh…” I said quietly, remembering their punishments had yet to be given. A ball of dread knotted up in the pit of my stomach at the thoughts of the kind of display they might cause in front of God and everybody. “Right.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Cullen reassured, apparently sensing my trepidation. “They’ll be in chains. They cannot touch you.”

I sighed, more to shake off my nervousness than out of any annoyance as I turned back. “I know.”

I was fully well expecting him to fall silent after that, but he managed to surprise me. In more ways than one.

“You ah… you look nice, today.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I had to fight to keep my mouth from dropping open with an audience watching, even though they probably couldn’t hear what we were saying at this distance. Heat threatened to bloom in my cheeks, but I willed it to go away before it made itself visible in the form of a glowing blush. No doubt the compliment was intended to make me feel better, but…

_He noticed my appearance…_

Wisely, I resisted the urge to tease him with “Just today?” and send him into an apologetic mess in front of the whole hall, so I simply replied after a rather awkward moment, “Oh. Well… uh… thank you. So do you.”

I didn’t have time to think about anything further, however, as Maxwell suddenly entered the hall, quickly bringing a hush over the crowd as he strode forward through the throng to his throne with echoing footsteps, a pair of soldiers escorting him. Just as he reached the dais, the soldiers split, retreating to the hall’s edges, while the Herald himself approached the throne, and we gave him small respectful bows. Clad in his silvery scale armor, a sword at his hip, he looked every ounce the Inquisitor he was, but the slight smile he gave each of us betrayed a bit of nervousness. I couldn’t blame him; I would be nervous too, were I in his shoes.

I was anxious enough as it was.

As Maxwell settled himself onto his throne with the rattle of buckles and metal and the tiniest squeak of leather, Josephine stepped forward to address the audience that had assembled.

“We are gathered here to witness the sentencing of the prisoners of Skyhold for their crimes against the people of Thedas. Their respective nations have deferred to the Inquisitor’s authority in this matter, so that His Worship’s word is final. The prisoners shall have the chance to defend their actions and appeal to His Worship for mercy, but the ultimate sentence will not be debatable. Thus, be warned that any person who incites violence over the sentencing of a prisoner will be forcibly removed from this hall.”

She glanced to Cullen, whose shadow I saw dip its head in agreement, before she continued.

“We call forth for our first judgment Chief Movran the Under, of the Avvar Tribesmen, whose son captured soldiers of the Inquisition and challenged the Herald of Andraste to combat – a challenge which I remind our witnesses that his son _lost_. He answered with an attack on Skyhold’s walls… albeit a very short-lived one.”

Movran himself suddenly appeared at the doors, flanked by soldiers, his hands bound in shackles that rattled with every step. He stood two heads taller than his escorts, taller still with his ram-horn headdress, and it was obvious by the myriad of expressions, open mouths, and echoing whispers following him that the audience was not enamored of the Avvar. As a matter of fact, they seemed rather disgusted by his very presence, and several people edged away from him as they passed. Movran himself, however, didn’t seem to care one wit, eyes fixed ahead on Maxwell as he approached and halted at the foot of the dais.

I pulled my hands behind my back, and Josephine turned to the Inquisitor to explain the situation. “Chief Movran was caught by our soldiers striking the walls of the castle…” she trailed suddenly, her tone becoming somewhat uncertain as she first glanced at the prisoner, then at me, then back at Maxwell, “with… a goat.”

Howling laughter rippled through the audience at that. No doubt they thought the Chief an imbecile – a barbaric brute severely lacking in intelligence. Judging by the thinning of his lips, Movran was not amused, and he very much understood that laughter as mockery.

Maxwell shifted in his seat and cleared his throat before speaking at last. “Well, I fail to see what you would have to gain from that.”

Movran chuckled quietly, shaking his head, and then spoke with a certain amount of eloquence that positively shocked the crowd. Much to mine and probably his own satisfaction.

“This whole affair is quite unnecessary,” he explained. “It was nothing personal against _you_ , Inquisitor. You slew my idiot boy, and therefore I answered, as is my custom, by smearing your holding with goat’s blood. Simple as that.”

Maxwell glanced to Josephine, but she simply shrugged. “Don’t look at me.”

“No foul intended,” Movran continued. “He meant to murder Tevinters, of course, but decided to pick a fight with your Inquisition instead.” He chuckled louder. “A red-headed mother guarantees a brat.”

Avvar customs. An Avvar proverb. I understood that he answered the situation without malice, in his own traditional way, fully recognizing his son’s mistake. I hoped Maxwell would, too.

“In any case, do as you will, Inquisitor,” Movran said at length. “I and my clan yield to you. We still have brains in our heads, after all.”

Maxwell sighed, rubbing at his forehead a bit before shaking his head.

“Well, Chief Movran,” he began. “It seems our conflict is… rather unintended and, quite frankly, something I don’t care to continue, and you shouldn’t either if you value the lives of your clan mates. I would say that no harm has been done, and be finished with this. However, I think you know we cannot risk this happening again.”

Movran made a little jangling shrug of a gesture that was distinctly less a sign of acceptance and more of an “I-don’t-give-a-shit” one.

“Thus,” Maxwell said a little louder, “you and your men are immediately exiled to Tevinter. With as many weapons as you can carry.”

Gasps. I could practically _hear_ the mental facepalm coming from Cullen, though Leliana looked amused, and I had to fight to keep from laughing out loud.

Movran, on the other hand, didn’t bother hiding his mirth, laughing in his booming voice. “Well, my boy got us something after all! Hahaha!” He extended his manacled hands for the soldiers to free as he continued, “Mountain-Father guide you, Inquisitor. We won’t be darkening your doorstep again.”

And with that, the Avvar Chieftain was escorted back out of the hall, a free man, while the crowd murmured words of utter surprise and disbelief all the while, some people shaking their heads in dismay while others merely held their hands over their mouths. They probably wondered what the Inquisitor was thinking by both letting a potential antagonist go _and_ provoking the Imperium in such a manner, the latter of which I knew concerned Cullen.

But honestly, I was glad of the choice.

Whatever their reactions, they didn’t last long as Josephine summoned another prisoner.

“We now call forth Gereon Alexius, former magister of Tevinter responsible for ousting the Arl of Redcliffe and demanding servitude of the rebel mages, as well as aiding Corypheus and leading the Venatori in crimes against all people of Thedas.”

Gasps as Alexius was brought forth, manacled like Movran, his head bowed in shame as the soldiers shoved him at Maxwell’s feet.

“Ferelden and Tevinter both freely allow you to judge him as you see fit,” the Ambassador explained. “The Imperium itself has stripped him of his rank and exiled him, and the Crown of Ferelden has charged him with, among other things, apostasy, attempted enslavement, and attempted assassination – an event I think you remember well, Your Worship.”

“I do,” Maxwell replied grimly, and I knew he was reflecting on the events at Redcliffe as the hall fell silent to hear what he had to say. “These are serious charges that match terrible actions and even worse intentions. Judgment on your head of equal weight is required, Alexius.”

“I couldn’t save my own son,” Gereon spat, his face a contorted mask of rage as he answered the Inquisitor. “You think my fate matters to me?”

Josephine looked a bit at a loss as to how to address that. “You will say nothing in your defense?”

“No,” Alexius snapped. “There is nothing else for me to say, because this judgment will mean nothing in the end. You will lose _everything_ you’ve fought for, just as I have!” he roared, rattling his chained hands at Maxwell while the soldiers held him back. He then took a ragged breath and managed to calm himself as he added, “A fitting fate, I think. But by all means, Inquisitor, give your judgment and satisfy yourself and your people… for now.”

Murmurs rose to a constant hum within the hall. Even from this angle, I could see Maxwell’s mouth was a thin line. He leaned forward on his throne, elbows propped on his knees, almost examining the man before him. “Death seems far too merciful of a fate for you, Alexius,” he answered. “I don’t care what your reason was; you nearly destroyed the world yourself by tearing _time_ apart – a magical crime equal in gravity to the creation of the Breach itself. And even though killing you again would, as you say, be _deeply_ satisfying, I’m afraid I can’t offer you such an easy release from your _feelings_.”

 _Ouch_. So Maxwell knew as well as I did Alexius was trying to provoke an execution so he could be released from his grief and shame forever.

Alexius’s sharp eyes widened. “‘Again’? Wait… the spell worked? Did it work?! Inquisitor, did it-?”

“Enough!” Maxwell barked, rendering the former magister silent before he continued. “You promised to support the mages, had you been allowed to keep them. I will have you see to it that promise is fulfilled. You wished to make slaves out of them? Now live the remainder of your days as one yourself, to the people you would have put in chains.” He leaned back on the throne, pointing to Alexius with a rigid gloved finger. “I sentence you to servitude to Fiona and her rebel mages. _Everything_ you own, down to the last coin, will be given to them to assist them in rebuilding their lives. And _all_ your knowledge and connections will go to aiding the Inquisition.” Whispers swirled in the air as he added, “And if you fight such a judgment, know that I give full permission to Ser Barris and his Templars to act as they deem necessary.”

The corner of Alexius’s mouth twitched, even as his eyes seemed to dim, and he nodded knowingly. “And you have indeed come up with a punishment worse than death. Congratulations, Inquisitor.”

While the disgraced magister was then led away amid the buzz of the audience, I released myself from a tense posture I didn’t know I was holding. Dorian and Fiona would be satisfied with the sentence, at least, but would the people?

I didn’t have time to think about this more or gauge the spectators’ reaction, however, because Josephine was already calling the next prisoner forward.

And as he entered the hall, I felt my stomach clench, my mouth go dry, and my heart nearly stop.

“For our third judgment this day, we bring forth the man known as ‘Butler’ to be judged for his crimes of murder and attempted assassination of fellow Inquisition members.”

My first would-be assassin came forward then, and everything felt like it was going in slow motion. I hadn’t seen much of Butler’s face during the attack at Haven, but those eyes of his I remembered – dark and sharp and cold. And they were still the same. They locked on mine, and my insides squirmed like live worms in a bait can. I didn’t have to think hard at all to remember the feel of his gloved hand around my mouth, the taste of leather on my tongue, the flash of metal before my eyes, the smell of vomit in the air…

Thankfully, Josephine’s voice broke my thoughts, and I was brought crashing back into the present, though my heart still beat quick and erratic under my sternum.

“Again, Ferelden has allowed us to judge him freely,” she said, “considering his actions were direct betrayal against the Inquisition itself. However, you should know that because of the instance of murder against a citizen of Ferelden, the blackhallers have informed me they will gladly accept and mete out a sentence of execution under Crown law if Your Worship so desires. Transfer to Denerim can be arranged immedi-”

“Oh, for bloody fucking sake, _get it over with!_ ” Butler interjected with a shout, spittle flying. “With your farce of an organization and a farce of an ‘Inquisitor’!” he sneered. “A _farce!”_ he barked again. “First the blasphemous ‘Herald of Andraste’, and then the so-called ‘Prophetess of the Inquisition’?” His eyes latched to mine again before flicking to the Ambassador. “You say you were betrayed? How _dare_ you! _We_ were betrayed!” he roared.

“He’s right!” someone shouted.

“Shut up!”

“He speaks the truth!”

“Fuck off!”

Spurred by the sudden unrest, he shouted louder. “ _We_ who believed in Justinia’s Inquisition when first it was whispered! Betrayed in favor of her murderer and a charlatan!” he spat at Maxwell’s boots before casting a dark and chilling glare at me. “A charlatan and his opportunistic _whore_!”

The hall erupted into chaos, people jumping on each other in a matter of seconds and beating each other senseless while others scrambled to get away from the fight. Lea’s warning words when we had first arrived at Skyhold echoed in my mind. Now I knew she was right – there were still people here who felt like Butler did, hiding in the ranks…

All it took was the subtle nod I saw from Cullen’s shadow, and several of the soldiers leapt into action, dragging the brawlers off of each other by their shirts and belts and hauling them out of the hall, with them shouting and screaming insults and obscenities all the while. And thus, as soon as the scrap had begun, it stopped, leaving everyone who remained in a stunned and quiet daze.

“That is quite enough!” Leliana said at last, stepping forward next to Josephine, her eyes blazing fire as she looked down at her former agent. “You are the _only_ murderer and betrayer here, ‘Butler’. Forget the Inquisition; I once called you friend, and you betrayed _me_! I would have meted out justice myself. The only thing that stopped me was the mercy from the very woman whom you tried to kill!”

Butler laughed aloud, throwing his head backwards. “Oh, then she really _is_ a stupid bitch.”

I felt cold and hot at the same time. Sweaty and chilled. I wanted to punch him, but I was frozen to the spot. I wanted to cry, to scream, to beat his face in, and yet all I could do was bear a stony expression, silent and unmoving.

“What is your judgment upon this man, Inquisitor?” the Ambassador asked at length, so as to end this charade.

There was heavy silence for a long moment, and then Maxwell spoke at last, “For such high crimes, nothing less than death will suffice.” His grip on the arms of the throne was tight. “I believe there are people here who need to witness such a sentence delivered, and so arrangements for travel to Denerim are not required. I will execute him myself. At noon. Prepare the block.”

“At your order, Inquisitor,” Josephine nodded, making note upon her tablet.

But before the last word was even out of her mouth, as the soldiers dragged him away, Butler howled, “‘ _There is but one Truth! All things are known to our Maker, and He shall judge their lies!’ Their_ lies _!_ ”

A quote from the Chant of Light.

More rumblings from the crowd, though no one dared make another move to hit anyone for fear of being hauled out by their collars like the others had been. Fortunately, Josephine was quick to move on, drawing the people’s awareness to the last of the prisoners to be judged – the two teenage maids from Val Royeaux. I, on the other hand, was finding it increasingly difficult to pay attention…

“For your final judgment this morning, Inquisitor, we call forth Lilia and Arielle, maidservants of Lady Ysabelle Guillerose,” Josephine began as the pair were brought into the hall, noticeably less roughly than their predecessors. “Both of whom we’ve found willingly abetted forces bent on assassinating a member of the Inquisition. The official charge is bribery, as they were given money for their aid and silence, but you should be aware it was also with full knowledge of attempted murder on the part of an as-of-yet unknown third party.”

“I see,” Maxwell said musingly as the maids stumbled to a halt before him, their heads bowed like Alexius’s had been. “So you didn’t participate in the act of assassination yourselves, but you enabled the attempt and accepted money to stay quiet about it.” The Inquisitor leaned forward in his chair, cocking his head sideways with what was no doubt incredulity, based on his next words. “You do realize that no one in their right mind will ever trust you again?”

“Y-yes, _monsieur_ ,” they said quietly, not raising their heads to even look at him. They still wore their garb from the estate, now dirty and stained. Both looked miserable.

Maxwell sighed, rubbing at his bottom lip, considering his options while the audience waited. He glanced to Josephine, then to Leliana, then back to the maids. Then, after a few more moments, he said at last, “I hereby give you to the Chantry. You will be taken to a cloister in the country, you will don sisters’ habits, and you will repay your debt in service to the Maker for the rest of your days. That is your sentence.”

Merciful, and yet just. He knew they would not be able to earn an honest living again, but he also understood their temptation. They were young, with long lives ahead of them that he likely could not see them enduring in prison or as beggars or prostitutes. And so he sent them to the one place where they could safely perform penance without fear of physical abuse or starvation.

Despite feeling strangely detached at this point in the proceedings, I was satisfied with his decision. And they were silently accepting of it as well, even as red and tear-stained as their faces were, nodding their understanding.

With that, the soldiers escorted the maids away, and Josephine addressed the audience one final time.

“Thus have the Inquisitor’s judgments been rendered. Please, return to your business. Our work is not yet done.”

The hall became abuzz with loud noise afterwards, drowning all else out as people began moving for the various exits, no doubt talking about the sentences that had just been meted out and the coming execution at noon. Some of the soldiers helped herd everyone out of the doors save for the guests who planned on remaining for whatever reason. Maxwell himself at last stood with a heavy sigh, head bowed, armor glimmering.

I felt numb and distant, as though I had retreated into my body and was peering out of an unfeeling mask. I hadn’t even noticed the advisors moving closer until they were surrounding me in a tight circle, the Inquisitor and Josephine before me, Cullen and Leliana on either side.

“Are you all right, Tamsyn?”

The question came from the Nightingale, but I felt several leather-clad hands on my shoulders and back, belonging to her and Cullen and Maxwell.

“Yeah…” I managed to say with a nod, glancing downwards, though my voice didn’t sound like it belonged to me. “Yeah… I think so.”

_But I don’t really know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, you're not imagining it - I changed Dane from a stallion to a gelding to better match his temperament. That didn't happen in the course of the story; let's just assume he was that way all along. ;)


	40. Chapter 40

I was only vaguely aware of what happened once the judgments were over and the crowd was gone from the hall. After my considerate colleagues were confident I would be all right following Butler’s surprisingly mad display before the Inquisitor’s throne, the advisors finally dispersed to ensure Maxwell’s orders were carried out to the letter. The Herald himself, decidedly solemn, disappeared shortly thereafter to his chambers, and like him, I found myself headed towards my own room for some peace and quiet. I felt I needed to shroud myself in the sanctuary of solitude with before what some thrill-seeking nobles would consider to be the highlight of the day – the Inquisitor’s first execution. Lea must have sensed the same thing, because her knock never came on my door like I expected it might.

I was unsure of how to feel about it all, at first.

No matter how much I tried to convince myself that Butler was just spewing offensive nonsense for the sake of it – to prove he could rile the audience and the Inner Circle even in chains – I couldn’t help but be upset by both his cutting insults and their terrible implications. He honestly believed me to be nothing more than an immoral fraud taking advantage of the disorder caused by the Conclave… and, by extension, bamboozling the leadership of the Inquisition itself.

And the chaotic result of the traitor scout’s spit-laced ranting proved in an instant that he was not alone in his beliefs; even within the Inquisition, people were yet set against me enough to want me dead.

I knew they were there, of course. I hadn’t forgotten both Lea _and_ Mother Giselle’s words of warning weeks ago, and I thought perhaps the latter’s sentiments about those people who lost loved ones at Haven were indeed applicable here. But to witness such hostility demonstrated so plainly in front of guards and the Inquisitor and everyone else in the Inner Circle shook me to the core, no matter how much I tried to force it behind me.

Furthermore, I felt in my gut that Butler’s malicious suggestion I was Maxwell’s whore would actually end up caught in the rumor mill and spread all over Thedas by the gossip-mongering nobles and dignitaries in the audience, who would most assuredly go back home gabbing like fishwives. That was the last thing I needed – to be painted as the Herald’s lascivious partner in crime. There were so many ways such a lie could be warped and used against me… and thus, against the Inquisition in general. From me simply being the Inquisitor’s mysterious mistress pulling the strings behind the scenes, to me being his equal in a charlatan’s scheme, like Butler believed, it was _all_ bad. Really bad.

And it _hurt_.

I knew surrendering to that feeling was just giving Butler exactly what he wanted. I knew and understood full well that he said what he had in front of all those people for the sole purpose of causing me pain. But knowledge wasn’t a shield from it. It didn’t stop me from feeling the sting anyway… from being chilled to the bone by his words.

Because perhaps, on some level, I feared they might be true. The fraud part, at least.

Was I a fraud? Was I manipulating everyone like Butler thought I was, even if I thought I wasn’t? I might have known the future, yes, but I was no Prophetess – not like Josephine and Leliana and Vivienne wanted the world to believe I was. Yet, I didn’t publicly deny it, and neither did they want me to. So I let them create and perpetuate this image and spread it all over Thedas without debate.

But to what end? The Inquisition’s benefit, or mine? Where did the welfare of Tamsyn end and that of the Inquisition begin?

_He’s making you doubt yourself. Stop letting him get to you. He will be dead soon, and then none of his ravings will matter anymore._

Why was my inner voice starting to sound like Cullen?

Cullen. Now there was a man who could make me cease thinking about Butler by simply _existing_. Just like I had envisioned Cassandra when the Harlequin attacked me in Val Royeaux, I could conjure the image of the Commander in my mind’s eye and immediately feel strengthened. Already, my soul began to lighten – in both brightness and weight – as I thought of the words we had shared before the judgments began. He had so kindly complimented me, when I had least expected it. And I had complimented him right back! Dear God, were we mutually flirting, now? My cheeks warmed to an uncomfortable level of heat just at the thought of it.

_You’re making too much of it._

Nonsense. I was far too girlishly giddy at the thought to listen to logic, at the moment.

It was marvelous, really. It seemed that anytime I sank into darkness, Cullen was always there to drag me back into the light in some way. From the time I had been overwhelmed by my grief at Haven, to my crushing depression following Val Royeaux, to now, sitting in shock in the aftermath of Butler’s judgment – even when he wasn’t physically here, he somehow rescued me from the darkest parts of myself.

My eyes widened as I sat on the edge of my bed and stared into space, a heat rising in my cheeks again and blooming in my chest as realization washed over me in a crashing wave.

_This isn’t fangirling anymore…_

No. I needed to stop myself. Stop myself from thinking too much about this before I caused myself more emotional hurt. Just like I had told him to his face after the fall of Haven: Cullen saved people. That’s just what he did. He was a rescuer, a protector, a comforter. It was just in his nature. He would do the same for Cassandra, or Josie, or Leliana, or _anyone_. I wasn’t special. And trying to make that moment anything more than what it was – a simple, albeit kind, reassurance – was only going to get me in trouble.

I shook my head to clear it. It wouldn’t be long until the execution, and I’d need to leave early if I wanted a front-row seat, as it were.

And yes, I did.

Never before did I ever think I would want to watch someone die by an executioner’s hand. If I had ever considered such a thing on Earth, I would have thought I had gone completely insane. But not now. Now, I needed to see that murderer’s end for myself. I needed to put that chapter of my life behind me for good. And the only way to do that, to know in my heart he was gone forever and would never cause me or anyone else grief again, was to witness it first-hand.

Of course it wasn’t like it was the first time I’d seen death. I’d already seen more than my share of it at Haven. I myself had had a hand in it during Corypheus’s attack. And then I’d seen it again in Val Royeaux.

But still, this seemed a little different than that.

I briefly wondered how Maxwell felt about it. He seemed quite solemn immediately following the judgments, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the proceedings themselves or what he was about to do. He was a warrior. His enemies died by his own sword almost daily. But to judge and put someone to death personally? To be judge, jury, and executioner all wrapped up in one? That, too, was different.

The execution was to take place at the gatehouse, where, at the battlements on top, a raised wooden platform had been set up – a temporary, makeshift thing that could be moved around fairly easily. Those who could get there early enough could watch from the walls around the area, while everyone else would have to crowd below in the courtyard. The block was already there, as was a bucket to catch Butler’s head, and straw placed beneath to absorb the spilled blood.

My stomach churned at the very thoughts of it, but I willed myself to stay, steeling myself and gathering all my strength. I was determined Butler would see me, the mark of his failure, right before his head was removed from his shoulders. I hoped he would feel helpless, just as I had that terrible night.

Just before noon, then, half the castle or more had gathered to watch the Inquisitor deliver justice, the courtyard packed with guests and staff, while the walls were occupied mostly by those higher in the organizational hierarchy. Josephine was not present, but Leliana and Cullen both were. They stood beside me on the walls with their hands behind their backs, as did Lea, who managed to get permission from the usually-swamped cook to be there with me. She said very little on arrival, mostly standing silently for emotional support. It wasn’t like it was a very appropriate occasion for talk, after all. Despite it being justice, we were still about to witness someone die.

As I glanced over the crowd below, observing the rest of those gathered, I remembered Sean, and I wondered where he was. I wasn’t the only one who Butler had harmed, after all; the boy’s mother had been murdered by the bastard, which was the primary reason for the death sentence to begin with, and Sean himself had likely been scarred for life. An execution like this wasn’t proper for a child of his age to witness, despite the closure it might provide for him. But perhaps he could be informed of it, nonetheless, and that alone would offer the same peace of mind. I made a mental note to talk to him later, if possible.

At last, after what seemed like an age of waiting, Butler was brought through the crowd by two soldiers, hands tied tightly behind his back with a rope. I noticed someone spat on _him_ during his final walk to the platform. I thought it was rather fitting, considering how he had spit at the Inquisitor during the judgment. Many in the crowd booed him as he passed, and someone even threw what looked like an egg at him, though they missed.

Once the soldiers finally got him up to the block, shoving him down onto his knees with his neck outstretched and making sure he stayed down, they stood back in an at-ease position while a priestess began reciting what were, essentially, Last Rites for Andrastians. Cullen said nothing to his men during all of this, and so I supposed this was a routine they had practiced ahead of time. I was honestly surprised Butler didn’t start raving again while the priestess talked, but now it looked like all of the fire had been snuffed out of him. In fact, the skin around one of his eye sockets looked distinctly blacker than when I had seen him in the hall, and I wondered if he had been beaten between the proceedings and now…

And then, Maxwell arrived.

He strode past us, ceremonial sword on his hip, still garbed in his scale mail coat. Once the priestess completed her mantra and retreated from the platform, the Inquisitor advanced, climbing the stairs and approaching the cowed form of Butler. I could tell from the shimmer of his armor that he took a deep breath before addressing both the spectators and the condemned in a loud and clear voice that rang on the stones of the castle:

“For the crimes of murder, attempted assassination, and treason against the Inquisition, you, ‘Butler’, have been sentenced to death, and your execution will be carried out by my hand, immediately.” He focused on the traitor before him. “May the Maker have mercy on your soul.”

The decorated blade then rang out of Maxwell’s scabbard with a long, ominous scrape of metal, emphasized by the deathly-quiet hush that had fallen over the fortress. Not even the ravens cawed above, as if they, too, watched in expectant silence. The edge of the silver sword shimmered blindingly with the Inquisitor’s movements, like an argent beacon. The dragon crossguard flashed fire in the noonday sun. And then, with one swift downward stroke as fast as a snake’s strike, there was a spray of scarlet blood, a sickening _thud_ , a chorus of gasps…

… and it was all over. At last, it was over.

The hum of the spectators rose again and I closed my eyes after forcibly holding them open through the whole thing. Though my stomach rolled from the grisly sight that the soldiers quickly moved to hide, a weight lifted from my shoulders – one that I hadn’t realized I was carrying until now.

“Are you all right, Tamsyn?”

Though Cullen and Leliana had both turned to me with concerned – if grim – expressions on their faces, the question itself came from Lea this time, who had taken hold of my wrist briefly and squeezed as she watched me with her large and observant green eyes.

After a moment, I nodded silently, letting out a long breath through my nose.

Yes. I was all right. Now, this time, I really was all right.

\------------------------------------------------------

That afternoon, Skyhold’s meticulously-maintained garden quad was especially serene. It wasn’t anything untypical of course. It was always a stark contrast to the bustle of the main hall and the borderline chaos that was the lower courtyard. But it was particularly calm and tranquil now. Those visitors and staff members who gathered at the benches lining the walls of the portico only whispered softly or otherwise kept to themselves. It seemed that, for most people at least, the judgments and execution were enough excitement for one day, and the castle was content to remain quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

Which was certainly fine by me.

I had headed to the gardens for the sole purpose of finding Sean. During my search, it didn’t take long to run across Mother Giselle, garbed in her usual white and red habit that had become a little tattered around the hem, which I expected – in addition to her healer duties, she seemed to have taken it upon herself to watch over the children of the Inquisition. She leaned against one of the pillars of the portico, presumably watching the gardeners and other Chantry sisters. When I slowly drew up beside her, however, and followed her gaze, I noticed two youngsters sitting beside each other on the steps of the stone gazebo across the way. Both had their knees up and didn’t appear to be speaking to each other.

Sean and Marianne.

About the time it registered that was who they were, though, Mother Giselle cast a small smile my way and nodded to the pair, her hat dipping a little with the movement as if to indicate them all on its own. “Sean has found a friend.”

“Really? Marianne?” I queried quietly, watching the two children for a moment before returning my attention fully to the Revered Mother. “It… seems a little surprising.”

“Does it?” she asked, cocking her head. “They have both lost so much so young. In each other, I think they see kindred spirits, regardless of Marianne’s magic.”

I glanced around the immediate area surrounding them, knowing the girl’s self-appointed guardian couldn’t be far away, even if I hadn’t yet seen her. Templars could be surprisingly well-hidden. “Does Ser Fleurice translate for Marianne? When she wants to communicate with Sean, I mean?”

“Sometimes,” Giselle confirmed. “But mostly, when they are together, they just sit in silence. Their shared company is enough.”

I nodded in understanding. I remembered reading something somewhere that had suggested true friends were the ones who could sit together, say nothing at all to each other, and yet understand everything and be perfectly okay with that silence. If Sean and Marianne were already at that point, having known each other only a few weeks, then they were blessed indeed.

The priestess sighed, pulling her hands behind her back. “I have already spoken to him about Butler’s judgment and execution, in as delicate terms as I could manage. He understands that his mother’s murderer has now paid the ultimate price for his crime, and it seems to have brought Sean some measure of closure at last. He believes his mother can finally rest in the Beyond.” She paused. “Still, there is one loose thread to tie, and that is you.”

My brow furrowed, as I was unsure of what she meant. “Me?”

She nodded in confirmation. “He knows he is not to blame for his own mother’s death, but it is obvious the burden has not lifted from his shoulders, yet.”

She hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the ground almost ashamedly, and then added, “I may have made a mistake in explaining what judgments are – punishments upon the guilty for their wrongdoing. I sense he yet feels guilt, but the source is different. I think he wonders if he is at fault for putting you and that poor soldier in harm’s way.” She paused again. “He spoke of you often during our conversation, and how you were hurt helping him. From what little he has told me, I believe he thinks _he_ should also be judged for the part he played in that tragedy. And even though I have told him he is not at fault for any of the events that took place that terrible day, I think he has a far greater need to hear it from you.”

I felt my gaze drawn back to the boy, where he sat with his arms crossed atop his knees and his chin resting on top of his forearms. He stared at nothing while Marianne did the same beside him. I knew first-hand that was a difficult feeling to banish. And though I remembered that I had indeed assured him he played no part in his mother’s demise, I _hadn’t_ actually told him he had no part in the harm brought to myself or Willem…

“You should go talk to him, Lady Tamsyn.” Mother Giselle said at last, stepping back with a nod of respect. “I think it would be of great benefit to the both of you.”

And with that, she turned and began walking towards the main hall, leaving me to decide what to do.

Taking a breath, I stepped off of the portico and into the soft grass of the garden, walking slowly across the green and towards the gazebo where the two children still sat in silence. A single raven cawed overhead as it flew with its burden, but other than that, the only sound was my feet rustling through the grass. Marianne was the first to look up, noticing my presence almost immediately, but Sean didn’t even raise his head until I was roughly two paces away from them both.

I smiled at them as I approached. “Hello Sean. Marianne.” I made sure to mouth the words clearly, so the deaf-mute girl could understand me.

Marianne waved cheerily and smiled rather broadly. Hoping my presence was welcome at this time, I sat down cross-legged in front of them, and Sean quietly greeted me back with a smaller smile. “‘Ello, missus.”

I sighed as I settled myself, pulling my ankles under me and thinking about how to start. “So, Mother Giselle told me you talked about what happened today. About Butler.”

Sean nodded, resting his chin back on top of his arms and continuing his staring into space ahead of him. “Yep.”

“I just wanted to know… how are you feeling?” I asked quietly. Marianne returned her attention to Sean and watched him closely, as if studying his response.

He ultimately shrugged, but otherwise remained unmoving. “All right, I guess,” he replied softly.

Silence. I glanced down at the dirt, poking the grass blades standing tall and rigid at my knee. I really didn’t want to pry too much this soon, though I wasn’t sure he’d open up to me unless I did. And Mother Giselle seemed insistent that I address his internalized emotions.

“You okay, too, missus?” he asked at last, somewhat surprising me.

That question brought a smile to my face as I looked back up at him. Sean was so sweet. Even as terrible as I knew he probably felt at times, it seemed he always asked about me after I asked about him, politely returning the question. His mother had raised a kind and thoughtful boy. I only hoped he would continue to be that type of person. That life would not make him bitter.

“Me?” I said. “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

He nodded solemnly.

I sighed again. This was more difficult than I had anticipated. “So, uh… Sean, I want you to know something.”

“What’s that, missus?” he looked up, an expression of puzzlement on his round, freckled countenance that was, quite frankly, adorable.

I cocked my head, looking slightly sideways at him. “You remember when I said that you didn’t cause what happened to your mother?”

He nodded again, sapphire gaze trailing downwards from mine towards the general vicinity of one of my boots. “Yes’m.”

“Well,” I began, swallowing as I tried to gather the words. And the _right_ words at that. “I just want you to know – you didn’t cause what happened to me, either. Or Willem.” I straightened. “You are blameless. I know you feel bad about it, still, but it wasn’t your fault. I promise. It was Butler’s. And now he’s paid the price for it, just like Mother Giselle told you.”

At that, his brow furrowed heavily, the corners of his mouth turning downwards into a frown, and he seemed to age ten years in one second. “But why don’t I feel better, yet?”

I smiled as gently as I could. “Butler hurt you just as much or more than he hurt me. You have to give yourself the time to heal that wound, and healing can take a lot of time. The worse the hurt, the longer the time.”

He blinked and nodded slowly in understanding, but I could tell his eyes were beginning to fill with tears. Then, before I could say anything more, he suddenly sprang forward from where he sat and landed hard against my chest, wrapping his arms around my neck and burying his face in my jacket. There, he curled up in my lap, bawling his eyes out, shuddering and shaking with every breath. At first I was too stunned to do much of anything, everything had happened so quickly. But then I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight, letting him cry all he wanted as we sat together.

In that moment, he reminded me so much of _me_. It broke my heart to little pieces, and it took all my strength not to start crying, too.

He sobbed, long and hard, grief wracking him to the core as he slowly released all of the emotions he had held back for so long. He didn’t seem to want to let go of me anytime soon, and so I just sat there on the ground, with Marianne looking on sadly, while I rocked and soothed Sean with soft words of reassurance until the tears could flow no more.

\------------------------------------------------------

After I finished my routine archery training with Leliana that afternoon, it was very nearly suppertime. I had just re-entered the main hall with my weapon slung over my shoulder and was preparing to go back to my room when I saw Iron Bull climbing the entryway stairs at a quick clip and with a curiously broad grin on his face. That grin widened tenfold when he saw me emerging from the gardens door, and I halted in my tracks.

“Tamsyn! _Psst!”_ he called as he excitedly approached me, almost jogging past a pair of bewildered Orlesian ladies, his leg brace jangling every other step. “Tamsyn, Tamsyn, Tamsyn, Tamsyn!”

“What, what, what, what?” I asked, grinning right back at the same time as my eyes widened in anticipation. He sure was excited about something, and knowing him, I wasn’t exactly certain if that was a good or a bad thing…

“It’s _here!_ ” he replied, voice barely above a whisper.

I felt my brow crinkle momentarily in confusion as I looked upwards at him. “What’s he… _oh!_ ” I smacked my forehead with my gloved palm when the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. “The cocoa!”

Bull nodded emphatically, still grinning, looking like some overgrown horned child waiting for their parents to open a package from the UPS man. “The cocoa! C’mon, we gotta get everyone together! Krem’s already working on the Chargers and Cullen. I’m going to grab most of our other friends. You go get Josephine and Red and Maxwell, and we can meet up in the tavern!”

But at that very moment, the gardens door rattled open again, and there entered Leliana herself. The poor Nightingale was immediately accosted by Iron Bull while I looked on with a lingering smile on my face.

“There you are, Red! You got anything important going on or can you spare some time?”

Leliana’s sharp blue eyes flicked from Bull to me (to which I shrugged questioningly) and then back to Bull. “I always have something important going on, Bull. The only question is whether or not I can put it off. What is it?”

“He wants us all in the tavern to enjoy some hot drinks and fellowship,” I supplied. “Everyone. Advisors, comrades in arms, the Inquisitor – everybody.”

Bull nodded his agreement, expectation glimmering in his one grey eye.

The corner of Leliana’s mouth turned upwards, and then she chuckled heartily. “All right. I’ll go. Let me go put away my bow and check on a few things in the rookery, and then I’ll be there.”

“ _Yes!_ ” Bull hissed victoriously, pumping his fist in the air before turning to me. “All right, Tamsyn, it’s up to you to get Josie and Max.”

“You got it, Bull,” I said with a nod, returning his contagious grin again.

And off he went, headed across the hall to Solas’s rotunda to begin fetching the other members of the Inner Circle. Leliana and I exchanged amused looks before she followed suit, and I turned to begin my search for the Ambassador. Seeing Bull so thrilled made me strangely happy. I felt better in that moment than I had all day long, and I was bound and determined to convince Josephine and Maxwell to join us for some good, clean fun and fellowship.

Honestly, how could they refuse an offer like this?

I only briefly made a small detour to my room to drop off my bow and quiver and leave a note for Lea regarding supper before I was back into the main hall and ducking through the side doors to the Ambassador’s office. As luck would have it, both she and the Inquisitor were there, he standing and she at her desk, both speaking in quiet tones.

“…when can we handle this?”

“I do not know. I would like to be able to figure out something before the masquerade.”

Their concerned voices gave me pause, and I stopped shortly inside the doorway, hoping I wasn’t intruding on a serious discussion. That was when Josephine looked up and Maxwell glanced back over his shoulder to see me entering the office.

“Oh, hello Tamsyn,” Josephine began, smiling warmly as she usually did. “Is there something I can help you with?”

I leaned against the wall. “I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?”

Maxwell glanced to Josephine and then shook his head when she shrugged. “Oh, not at all. We were just finishing our discussion anyway.”

I nodded. “All right. Well, I’m just passing word along that Iron Bull wants everyone to gather in the tavern for some hot drinks and such. He really wants everyone to be there. Do you think you can spare an hour or two?”

The Inquisitor’s brows rose curiously. “I’m fairly certain I can.”

Josephine nodded her agreement. “Of course! It sounds like delightful fun. Tell him I’d love to.”

I found myself smiling broadly. “Excellent! See you very soon, then!”

And with that, I turned and began making my way to the Herald’s Rest with a light step.

I had to admit, I was rather excited too, not only to treat myself to a favorite winter beverage, but also to spend some time with everyone, all together, at the same time. That was something we hadn’t really managed before, and the idea of getting the entire Inner Circle together was a rather fun one. I just hoped everyone could actually make it. Vivienne would be hard to persuade, as might Solas, and maybe even Cassandra.

But especially the workaholic that was Cullen.

When I entered the tavern at last, I noticed a soldier at the bar, along with Cabot. Maryden was gone elsewhere for the day. The only other people there were a couple of maids cleaning tables and sweeping the floor. I nodded politely to them when they glanced up at me, quietly making my way across the hardwood to a chair beside the fire and settling myself to wait on the others.

It was then I noticed the mabari lying in the shadows not far from the bar – a sleek, shiny-coated, jet-black dog with a splash of pure white on its chest, and I felt my breath catch.

It was the first time I’d ever been so close to one since arriving in Thedas, and it gave me more than a bit of pause. They were _really_ big, intimidatingly so, and obviously very strong. Though I suspected each individual dog had their own distinguishing features, the breed in general seemed like a combination of a bullmastiff and a pit bull in build. With the exception of my uncle’s hunting dog – a big dumb oaf of a hound that couldn’t hurt a fly – I was skittish around most canines, especially those trained to attack. And though I knew mabari were a noble and intelligent breed, they were very much war dogs. That thought lingered in the back of my mind even as I watched this one lazily panting and observing the gathering party.

“Don’t mind ol’ Ellie, there, miss,” a voice said from the bar.

I glanced up to see the soldier sitting backwards on his stool, leaning one arm back on the bar while he held a tankard in hand. “She’s no trouble,” he added.

“Ellie, huh?” I said, the mentioning of the dog’s name drawing her attention back to me. “Is she yours?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “Sorry to say she isn’t. Belongs to Sergeant Ross down at camp, but she does what she wants, as mabari do.”

As if to demonstrate, that was when Ellie suddenly got up and meandered over to me, as I feared she might when I said her name. Sitting down as I was, she reached to my shoulders when she stood, and I had to resist the urge to lean away when she stopped _right_ next to me…

But in that instant, something about her utterly charmed me.

She had an elegant face for a mabari, her snout longer and slenderer than others I’d seen. Her closed jaws were more round than square, and her deep brown eyes were large and bright in the light of the hearth. She cocked her head at me first one direction and then the other, and her docked tail wagged a little in curiosity – slowly, hesitantly, as though she was unsure about me. I briefly wondered if I seemed different to her because I wasn’t from Thedas, if maybe I even _smelled_ different.

Cautiously lifting a hand, I risked petting the top of her head, first with just my fingers, and then allowing my whole hand to brush from her forehead down her neck. Almost instantly, her mouth dropped open again, and her pink tongue lolled out, her eyes closing happily. Unable to keep from grinning at her reaction, I scratched behind her cropped ears, and that was when she dropped to the floor _on top_ of my feet, rolling over so I could easily reach her underside. If I hadn’t been wearing sturdy boots, she might have crushed my toes with her weight.

_Damn, she’s heavy!_

At that, the soldier laughed a little from his position at the bar. “Thought she might be a little wary of you there, but you won her over quick.”

I chuckled, too, scratching at Ellie’s furry chest and belly as she began to kick one back foot happily. “You know, I’m really not sure who won over who.”

“So the mabari likes you, eh, Weirdy?” I heard Sera’s voice say as the elf herself suddenly plopped beside me on the floor. “Can’t be all bad, then, can you?”

A _whoosh_ of air signaled Cole’s arrival on my other side, and though it startled me (and, consequently, Ellie, who rolled back onto her stomach), Sera was the one who actually yelped in surprise, leaping to her feet from her sitting position. At that, the soldier at the bar blinked once, looked into the tankard he held, then slid off of his barstool and fished around for some coins. “Think I’ll call it quits for the day…” he muttered as he smacked the money on the bar and then vacated the premises as though something were chasing him.

“Cremisius said for us to join the others here,” Cole said, his voice his usual ethereal tone.

“Right, he just _had_ to invite _you_ ,” Sera grumbled.

Ellie whined.

“Oh, don’t tell me you like him, too,” the elf crossed her arms indignantly.

Ellie barked once, her voice so loud my nearest ear rang.

“Animals usually like me,” Cole replied. “Not like people.”

“That’s because most animals are stup-”

Sera was abruptly cut off as Ellie began to growl threateningly, a low rumble that was very nearly chilling to hear at that proximity.

“I didn’t mean _you_!” Sera held up her hands defensively, taking a step backwards.

Ellie didn’t look convinced.

That was when Varric, Dorian, Vivienne, and Solas all entered the tavern one after the other, followed by Josephine, Leliana, and Maxwell a few minutes later. Cassandra, Blackwall, and Cullen entered after, with Iron Bull, Krem, and the Chargers noisily bringing up the rear with their raucous chatter. And thus, to my great surprise, it appeared everyone had been persuaded to come and join us. Those few patrons who had stopped by and maidservants who lingered around the commons began to disperse in their presence, ultimately leaving the tavern solely to the Inner Circle and Cabot’s staff.

“Drag up a seat, everybody,” Bull said, and the Chargers immediately obeyed, pulling extra chairs and stools from the bar and nearby tables to accommodate everyone. In no time at all, a circle had been made in front of the crackling fireplace for all fourteen members of the Inner Circle, including myself, with the Chargers lingering at the tables in the background. Sera and Cole stayed on either side of me, while Ellie seemed quite content to keep laying on my feet, much to my chagrin. My toes were already going numb…

“What’s this all about?” Vivienne asked. She perched on her stool as though she were sitting on a glass pedestal and not sturdy wood.

“You’ll see, ma’am!” Bull replied merrily, to which she nodded her assent, although it was clear she hadn’t yet seen the purpose in this little event that had dragged her away from her luxurious balcony room.

Almost as if on cue, a serving wench approached with a tray full of steaming mugs balanced on her shoulder, all smiles. “Hot cocoas for the Inquisition!”

“Oh!” Josephine exclaimed, “This is what you had me order all of that cocoa powder for?”

“Not just me,” Iron Bull replied as the serving woman began handing out the drinks to each of us. “Tamsyn gave me the idea after telling me she used to enjoy it during holiday season back where she’s from,” he explained. “I figured it would do her a little good to have something she liked and be able to share it with friends again.” He cast a wink my way. “It just happened to be a favorite of mine, too.”

There were _oh_ s and nods of understanding at that explanation, then, and suddenly everyone seemed a little less annoyed at having their day interrupted, the surliest of the Inquisition included.

“No marshmallows, I’m afraid,” the wench warned as she handed me my warm pewter mug. “And it’s made with water, not milk like the Orlesians like to do.”

“Not a problem,” Iron Bull said. “It’s still good.”

“Right,” she said, backing away. “Let me know if you want more. There’s… well, four crates of the stuff in the back.” And with that, she left us to socialize and enjoy our drinks.

Solas tentatively sniffed at his mug and squinted. “I don’t believe I’ve tried this before.”

“Neither have I,” Maxwell remarked similarly inspecting his drink.

“So this is the stuff you were telling me about, Tiny?” Varric asked, carefully tilting his mug and looking at the contents skeptically. “The stuff you miss from Seheron?”

“Yep,” Bull replied, the first to take a sip. “ _Ahhh_. Now that’s some _good_ drinking.”

The rest of us then took our own careful sips of the piping hot liquid. Almost immediately, there was a chorus of approving hums around the room, some expressions bearing more surprise than others. Though different than what I used to get back home, namely because there was far less sugar content, it was still very good. The chocolate flavor was quite rich, with just the tiniest bite to it, and it brought back sweet, if painful memories of Christmastime at both my grandmothers’ houses…

“Oh, I remember this!” Josephine said, eyes wide in realization, sharing looks with Cassandra. “I had this in Nevarra once.” Judging from the content look on the Seeker’s face as she sipped from her mug, Cassandra was most certainly accustomed to the drink herself.

“So do I,” Leliana added with a knowing grin.

“And I,” Cullen nodded too. “It was a rare treat when we could obtain something like this, but I do remember having it on occasion as a child in Ferelden.”

“I’ll admit, I could get used to this,” Blackwall said, raising his mug as if in salute.

“So could I,” Dorian agreed, which shocked the hell out of me.

“It’s ah,” Varric began tentatively. “Well, it’s not _bad_.”

“It’s _good_ ,” Bull insisted gruffly.

“You’re certainly not the only ones who think so,” Vivienne added. “This kind of drink used to be popular among a few circles in the court before Celene’s tea infatuation spread and all but wiped it out. Guimauves and cream were _required_ , though. As well as a sprinkling of cinnamon on top. Nothing else would do.”

“Stupid fancy Orlesians,” Sera muttered, turning up her mug and ending up with a chocolate smear on her upper lip.

“Deep and dark, but warm like the cabins in Haven,” Cole muttered. “It’s happier, though.”

“I think it is quite delicious,” Solas remarked, which caused my brows to lift in surprise. “An excellent idea to share it with us, Iron Bull. And Tamsyn.”

“I agree,” Maxwell said, raising his mug to Iron Bull and to me. “Thank you both.”

“I agree as well,” Cassandra said, a rare warm smile spreading across her face. “It brings back fond memories for me, as I am sure it does for Tamsyn.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling a little in return as I looked down into my mug and watched the steam curl from the surface of the dark chocolate. “It does.”

“Care to share with us?” Josephine asked at length.

I hesitated, and the others were silent in expectation. I was tempted to decline, but I realized Bull had wanted to do this for a time of fellowship. And that usually meant sharing tales. So, after a moment, I nodded.

“Well, mostly it brings back memories of spending time with my family,” I said, my eyes focused on the cocoa again. “We had a holiday a lot like Satinalia. It sort of became customary to have cocoa on the cold winter days surrounding the festivities. We’d drink it while decorating the house and singing songs. And after building snowmen and having snowball fights.” I swallowed a lump in my throat as I glanced up to the quiet Inner Circle around me. “Some good times,” I finished with a chuckle to cover my sadness.

“It sounds like,” Maxwell remarked with a dip of his head.

“That is very similar to what I myself remember,” Cassandra replied. “Just as it apparently was for the Commander, it was rare to obtain this particular mix, and so we would reserve it for First Day, to celebrate the beginning of the new year with family.”

“You know,” Iron Bull said, turning his attention to her, “You may have an idea there, Seeker. That sounds like a tradition that could catch on here at Skyhold.”

“Speak for yourself, Tiny,” Varric sat flatly.

“I like it,” Sera said loudly, “I think we should keep it.”

“For once, I agree with Sera,” Solas added, nodding his approval.

Leliana chuckled, bringing her mug to her lips again. “You know, if you like this, you should try true _Fereldan_ hot chocolate, sometime.”

“Fereldan?” Dorian cocked his head curiously. “And, dare I ask, how is it different from this? Does it involve dogs, perchance?”

“ _Dorian!_ ” Maxwell admonished.

Ellie growled at my feet, the sound raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

Cullen glared darkly over the rim of his mug, but the Altus offered him naught but a shitty grin in response.

The Nightingale then dipped her head in Cullen’s direction. “The Commander could explain it better than I, I think. He would be more likely to know the original story behind the mix.” She paused, and then added, “I recall the drink, but not the story.”

Cullen sighed, resting his mug on his knee as he thought. “There are several tales about it, though I am not certain how true they are. According to what I heard growing up, though, after the Orlesian occupation was driven out of Ferelden, there was a great amount of chocolate left behind from when the nobles had it imported from Orlais and Antiva.”

Josephine nodded her understanding at that.

“We had so much of it, we didn’t know what to do with it all,” he continued. “Someone had the idea of melting some of it down and mixing it with cream or water to make a drink for the winter. The idea caught on, spread across the country, and now you have certain taverns actually serving beverages made from melted Orlesian chocolates on special occasions.” He paused, brow furrowing as he thought some more, and then he added, “Oh, and people often add a shot of whiskey to it, as well.”

 _Oh_. No wonder Leliana remembered the drink and not the story…

“Hey,” Bull started excitedly. “There’s an idea! We should give it a try!”

There was a roar of agreement from the Chargers behind him, and I suddenly had a bad feeling about this.

“Hey, Cabot!” Bull called towards the bar, “Got a bottle of good whiskey back there?”

And thus, the “clean” part of “clean fun” went flying straight out of the window.

“Depends on what you’re calling ‘good.’ And if you’ve got the coin for it,” Cabot shot back.

“Just bring it out!”

The dwarf nodded his assent, pulling a bottle from the shelf before handing it off to Krem, who passed it to Bull. He added the first shot, followed by the Chargers, and then everyone else in the Inner Circle began adding their own, some more hesitantly than others. When it finally reached Leliana, she poured a generous amount for her mug, but Josephine, the last in the sequence, took the cake. When she saw Josie’s full intention of pouring the rest of the bottle in her own mug, the Nightingale nearly snatched it out of the Ambassador’s hand. “ _Josie, you’re putting too much!_ ”

Josephine narrowed her eyes. “Since when have you _ever_ said there was too much alcohol in _anything_ , Leliana?”

Cullen shook his head at the spymistress. “Oh, Maker, what have you unleashed?”

“What have _I_ unleashed?” Leliana replied. “ _You’re_ the one who elaborated, Commander.”

“You’re the one who _asked_!”

Down the hatch the spiked cocoa went, resulting in mixed reactions. Half the group seemed utterly enamored by the concoction, while the other half wasn’t impressed, me included. Especially not after the hot flush blazed up my throat and pulsed in my cheeks.

Leliana laughed aloud, more cheerful than I’d yet seen her. “Aha, now _that’s_ what I remember! Cabot, another bottle and more cocoa!” she called to the bartender.

_Oh, dear God…_

Though I and several more of the Inner Circle had trouble finishing the cocoa we’d effectively ruined, still others were with Leliana and went for round two. I refused, as did Varric, Vivienne, Solas, Cullen, and Cassandra. And maybe Cole, but he had vanished without a sound. Everyone else, however, was all in, and it was apparent that the second bottle of whatever it was Cabot had fetched was going to successfully trash half the Inner Circle, including the Inquisitor.

“Maker’s _balls_ … the fuck _was_ that stuff?” Blackwall slurred.

Dorian turned the bottle over in his hand and squinted. “‘Mackay’s Epic Single Malt,’” he read.

I wasn’t sure how on earth he had read the label at all, because the first shot was starting to have an effect on me. After the initial flush was gone, I was left feeling like my head wasn’t secure on my shoulders.

I blinked. Was I drunk after one _shot_? That’s it?

It was difficult to tell for certain, in all honesty. I’d never been drunk before in my life, and I certainly felt weird now. This had to be one of those terrible, near-moonshine level drinks someone dredged up from a thousand years ago…

I excused myself. I wasn’t sure anyone was even paying attention enough to hear what I said, though a few heads turned my way when I finally managed to push Ellie off of my feet, as she protested rather vocally with a loud whine.

I headed straight for the back door of the tavern, hidden in the shadows behind the bar. Cabot was there, but he said nothing at all, only giving me a simple nod to acknowledge my presence as he continued wiping out tankards and arranging bottles on the back shelves.

Once outside, I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep lungful of cold night air, hoping it would clear the fuzziness from my head. But it didn’t. All of my senses were strangely numbed, leaving me feeling incredibly vulnerable. Though I knew it wasn’t really Iron Bull’s fault, a small part of me began to wish this whole event had never happened…

“Tamsyn?”

_Cullen…_

“Yeah?” I asked without turning around, so he didn’t see the pained expression on my face.

“Are you all right?” he asked as he neared and leaned close, his hushed voice a timbre that sent shivers down my spine. Literally. It shocked me that I wasn’t able to control my reaction, and I briefly wondered if it was because of the drink. All the while, I hoped that he’d interpret anything he saw as a direct result of the cold and not his presence.

“Uh… I… I don’t know,” I said at length, thinking about lying to ease his mind but ultimately unable to. Perhaps another product of the whiskey. “I think I’m… actually a bit tipsy. Maybe more.”

“You’re not certain?”

I shook my head as I glanced to him, noting the way his eyes glittered beautifully in the moonlight as he leaned against the casement. “I’ve never been drunk before in my life, Cullen. I’d never drank alcohol every day until I came here, and I’ve never drank liquor _at all_. And certainly not anything like… _that_. I know, tipsy after one shot, right? Crazy…”

He sighed, lips thinning as his brow furrowed. “I knew I shouldn’t have said what I did. I had a feeling Leliana had baited me when she asked.”

I snorted. “It’s not your fault I’m a lightweight.”

Silence.

“Are you going to rejoin them?” he asked after a moment.

I shook my head as I crossed my arms. “No, I don’t think I will. I think I need to go back to my room for tonight.”

He drew up beside me, then, emerging from the doorway. “Then please, allow me to escort you back.”

There was a little flutter in my heart at that.

“I’m not _that_ drunk,” I protested, trying to quell the butterflies that had taken flight at his proposal.

His brow rose. “No, but anything could happen between here and your chambers. I’d feel better if I knew without a doubt you reached your room safely.”

We stood staring at each other in awkward silence, his offer hanging in the night air. Part of me fully well realized he was actually insisting and not asking, and that any refusal would be rebutted. But it didn’t stop me from thinking about it.

At last, though, I sighed heavily and nodded my acceptance, knowing that he was probably right. “All right.”

“Good.”

And before I could say anything more, his right arm went around my shoulders while his other hand gripped my left bicep to steady me. He then began slowly walking me around the corner of the tavern, pointing me towards the keep stairs. I tried not to lean into him too much, but my feet weren’t as steady as I wanted them to be. My depth perception was just enough off to be trouble, making my strides slightly choppy as I struggled with distance. Cullen didn’t fail to notice this, as he remarked halfway across the courtyard, “Aren’t you glad you agreed to my offer, now? You’ll need help on the stairs.”

I huffed, a subsequent cloud of silvery vapor floating behind us. “You must have the constitution of a,” I paused to think of the word, my brain refusing to process, “a _druffalo_ if you aren’t having the same difficulties I am.”

He chuckled, and Maker how I loved to hear it. The butterflies hadn’t gone away. If anything, their fluttering had only intensified.

“No,” he said teasingly, “you’re just a lightweight.”

At that, I sighed loudly in feigned irritation, which just made him chuckle again. But I couldn’t say I was annoyed by it. In fact, I was tempted to try and make him laugh more, just to hear that deep and mirthful sound over and over…

“Does it embarrass you, Tamsyn?” he asked after a moment, slowly assisting me up the keep stairs one at a time to ensure I didn’t stumble or miss a step.

I didn’t know precisely how to respond to that question. “A little?” I said questioningly. “I mean, I know it’s not the measure of a person. But still. I’d have thought I was a little tougher than that,” I said with a slight laugh. “But. At least there is one good thing that’s come of it, though,” I added as we reached the landing.

“Oh? And what is that?”

“Now I know to stay away from any and all whiskey in the future,” I said.

“That you do,” he agreed, his tone surprisingly solemn. “And, perhaps just as importantly, so do we.”

We fell silent after that, entering the empty great hall and heading for the flight to the second floor. Each step towards my room I dreaded, because it meant I would be parted from his company again. There was no denying that I had begun to crave spending time with him. Every time we were together, it made me long for more… each time more than the last.

_Oh, Jesus, I’m in trouble._

I knew it. But I didn’t have the will to distance myself from him at the moment. The warm haze of the alcohol, humming on the edge of my senses, seemed to wrap me up in everything that was him so tightly I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to. His voice, his touch, his _smell_ … the sweet and earthy scent of him, accompanied by the sharp tang of leather and metal and whiskey, danced around me like an invisible ribbon, soft and alluring as silk against bare flesh. It drew me to him like a snare.

And then, suddenly and far too soon, we were at my door.

“Well, here we are,” I said to break the silence, and his hold on me released at last. In that moment, it felt like part of me had broken away, taken at the moment of his absence.

“Yes,” he replied with a single nod. “And now that you’re here without any accidents, I think I will retire to my own quarters for the night.”

“No more drinks for you, either?” I asked teasingly, looking up at him. The moons’ pale light limned his hair in a silver halo and shimmered on his spaulders, but his face was dark in the shadow.

He shook his head as he began to turn away. “No. I’m afraid I have other things I must attend to, and they require a clear head.”

“Right,” I said with a nod, putting my hand on the door. “Goodnight, Cullen, and thank you. I really do appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

He paused then, watching me for a moment, before a flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips – so faint I could barely see it in the dark.

“Goodnight, Tamsyn.”


	41. Chapter 41

There must have been few hangovers – or at least the Inquisitor didn’t have one – because the next morning, Maxwell departed well before dawn for the Emerald Graves with Solas, Cassandra, and Cole in tow. Thus, once again, the rest of the Inner Circle was left behind to manage the affairs of the castle and conduct remote operations on their own while the Inquisitor took to the field to handle more delicate matters in person.

Without the Seeker present, I would have more time to myself for the next two weeks or so. Not that my schedule was precisely cram-packed, mind you; I still was able to operate relatively leisurely, as I did not have the paperwork the rest of the advisors did, and I didn’t have any personal projects of my own to see to like the Inquisitor’s companions. At least for now. But I was somewhat thankful for the break, nonetheless. Though I learned a great deal from sparring with Cassandra, the sessions with her were rather exhausting, making other tasks later in the day more difficult to manage.

Additionally, I thought it was probably good of Maxwell to get Cole away from Skyhold for the time being, too, considering how the spirit did not seem to operate well with me present. Perhaps he could have time to breathe without thinking about so many who “needed” his help. Furthermore, having him out of the castle would also let Sera have some time without worrying about where Cole might pop up next, and it would allow me not to worry about him overtaxing himself in his attempts to help.

Solas’s absence especially worked in my favor. With Fen’harel gone for the time being, I could visit the rotunda side of the castle without the trepidation I usually harbored when he was there. And so, with a good chunk of free time on my hands and Solas quite literally out of my way, I decided to use the opportunity to visit Dorian for a change.

The rotunda Solas inhabited was already half-painted with the bold-colored frescoes depicting the rise of the Inquisition and the dramatic attack on Haven. The towering form of Alexius was only partially completed, making his bottom half look like a wispy ghost in comparison to his completed upper portion. I didn’t fail to notice the triumphant wolves in almost every panel on the walls, and it made my stomach turn to see them.

_Depicting the Inquisitor’s accomplishments, my ass._

I would always be convinced Solas was very much painting his own victories. The Inquisitor was just a convenient excuse to offer anyone who asked about his work.

A frown pulled downwards at the corners of my mouth as I climbed the spiral stair, lost in thought. How easy it was to forget Fen’harel’s world-ending plans when he wasn’t present in my life. No matter how badly Josie’s little trip to Val Royeaux had turned out in the end, it had at least offered something of a respite from worrying about Egghead McMuffin and all the ways I could get screwed over by him. And now that he was gone with Maxwell, I could push him out of my head again. Ignore him for a little while longer.

_But not long enough…_

When I emerged on the second floor at last, I saw Dorian not far ahead of me, thumbing through a thick and dusty book before one of the nearest shelves. He sighed heavily, shook his head in obvious dismay, and then immediately put it back where he had found it before his fingers wiggled in front of the shelf while he looked for another.

“Need help finding something?” I asked.

“Not at the moment, thank you,” he said rather tersely, as though he’d done it a thousand times before already and wished everyone who posited the question to him would just leave him alone. But then he glanced over his shoulder at me and suddenly smiled quite broadly. “Tamsyn! What a surprise. It’s good to see you again.” He turned from the bookcase to face me fully. “Slept off the whiskey, I see?”

“Thank the Maker,” I said, tucking my bangs behind my ear. “No hangover, though my mouth was a little dry this morning. Overall, I’m better than I expected I would be.”

“Good,” he replied, nodding once in approval. “Might not want to make a habit of indulging in that particular type of drink too often. Although, considering your handsome escort last night, I can’t say I would blame you if you did so again for that purpose alone.”

His tone was so matter-of-fact, it took me a second or two to process what he had just said. And then when I finally _did_ , my cheeks flared hot in sheer mortification, and my eyes widened.

 _He had seen? Had they_ all _seen?_

“Ah, look at you!” he teased, grinning broadly under his mustache. “Blushing red as a strawberry! Don’t tell me you’re actually considering it.”

“No, Dorian, I’m not!” I protested with a hiss.

“Right,” he nodded again with a serious expression. “You’d have a far better chance coaxing him into another sparring round. And judging from how flustered you were after your last bout, I’d say you wouldn’t mind if he _put you on the ground_ again.”

He winked.

My mouth dropped open. Not just at his suggestion, either. He had seen the spar too?

“ _Dorian!_ ” I began, glancing frantically to see if anyone was close enough to be listening to our conversation. But he held up a hand to stop me before I could say anything else.

“ _Please_.” He rolled his eyes. “Your denial is absolutely adorable but plainly false to anyone with half a brain and less sense. Yet, as much as I’m enjoying teasing you about your rather obvious crush on our chivalrous ex-Templar, I do have something I’d like for you to look at before you run off again.”

He then beckoned me to follow him to his sitting area, and I was thankful for the abrupt change in subject. After rummaging around a huge stack of tomes for a moment, he withdrew a fairly thick one and handed it to me.

“This is one of several books I had sent to Skyhold from Tevinter,” he explained as I took the book carefully, admiring the intricate tooling on the leather cover. “ _Realitas Imagina_ – ‘The Reality of the Imagination.’ It’s a collection of essays written by various Tevinter scholars on the impact of the imagination on the Fade and its environment within dreams. I thought perhaps you might want to take a look and see if anything fits your own theories about…” he glanced around at the various mage assistants working in rather close proximity, “well, what _happened_.”

I smiled and nodded, grateful for both his tact and the thought itself. “Thank you, Dorian. I really appreciate it. I’ll give it a read as soon as I can.”

He held up a hand. “No thanks needed. Though,” he scratched his chin, “you _did_ offer to help me look for something, and now I think I’ll actually take you up on it, if you’re still willing?”

My smile widened into a grin. “Of course I am, Ser Pavus.”

And with that began our extensive scavenger hunt for a small pamphlet supposedly on the lineages of the Archons – a text he had ordered specifically for the Inquisition to tangentially aid in the identification of Corypheus, but that he had yet to find in the stacks of books that had been since shelved by Fiona’s apprentices. All the while he muttered various phrases of annoyance, including words such as “incompetent” and “uneducated,” much to my amusement.

An hour of meticulous searching later, and we still hadn’t found it, although I’d overheard quite a few more phrases – presumably curses – in ancient Tevene that I couldn’t pronounce. I wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to ask him what they meant…

“Tamsyn!”

I turned, noticing Sister Leliana approaching from the direction of the upper stair to the rookery, a satchel at her side and a burden in her hands. Despite the armor on her boots, her feet were nearly soundless as she walked, and I had to admit, I was a bit jealous of her grace.

“I thought I heard your voice down here,” she said as she drew nearer. “I’m glad I ran across you before you left – I was about to give this to Lea to pass your way.” The Nightingale indicated the box and smaller parcel in her hands, which immediately piqued my curiosity. “I’m afraid I have to cancel our practice together this afternoon,” she continued seriously. “Something’s come up regarding Calpernia that I need to devote all of my attention to.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Dorian said with brow lifted as he turned from the bookshelf he’d been working on.

“We’ll see,” Leliana replied before returning her attention to me. “Here, take these. I had an idea for such occasions when we can’t meet up in the garden.” When I cautiously obeyed, she elaborated, “This is a simply locked box with nothing in it. And those are the tools of a thief’s trade – probes, picks, and the like.”

When my brows shot upwards, she continued, “I know you probably can’t imagine yourself using them. You’re not a thief or an assassin or a bard. But I firmly believe you need to learn how to do so. You never know when you might need the skills of such people to get yourself out of a bad situation.” She chuckled, and then added, “If it helps, even Josephine knows the basics.”

“Hmm,” Dorian mused. “That’s not a bad idea at all, actually. Considering your recent bad luck, I’d take all the help I could get, if I were you.”

I sighed, acquiescing with a reluctant nod. “All right, if you say so.”

“I do say so,” Leliana replied. “And I insist. Once you unlock that one, I’ll give you more difficult ones to figure out. And so on.” Pausing, she smiled a bit and added, “And maybe some of them won’t be empty. For incentive, of course.”

I gulped. There was no telling what the Nightingale would decide to hide in those boxes. All sorts of wicked pranks came to mind…

“Oh,” she said suddenly, pulling a thin booklet from the satchel at her side. “Dorian, I borrowed this as soon as it came in. Did you need it for anything?”

And there it was.

The book we’d been looking for.

For an hour.

I covered my mouth as Dorian’s lips thinned. He snatched the book from her hand, grumbling his annoyance, but the Nightingale merely laughed.

\------------------------------------------------------

_Dear Tamsyn,_

_You are cordially invited to evening tea in the War Room with Cullen, Leliana, and myself at approximately eight of the bells. I do hope to see you there._

_~ Josephine_

I folded the note that had been slipped under my door only minutes earlier and tossed it onto my dresser with a sigh, wondering what to do about this new invitation. After the way the previous night had gone, I was a bit hesitant to answer the Ambassador’s summons. Apprehension balled itself up in my gut. Part of me was almost certain that if Leliana and Josephine could figure out a way to spike tea without making it taste like utter crap, they would…

In all actuality, however, Josephine was probably simply establishing the same kind of routine we used to have at Haven; she had hosted many a tea time in the evenings in those days, and they had become a bit of an anticipated comfort, even if relations were much stiffer between all of us back then. Now that things at Skyhold had settled down enough to be just as predictable, the Ambassador was re-adding scheduled meetings and events to the mix, just as she had hinted about during our trip. Perhaps she was also trying to create a more intimate and relaxing situation for a smaller group of people than the somewhat chaotic, impromptu get-together at the tavern had been. A bit of formality to counter the chaos.

Whatever her reasoning, it was apparent she really wanted us all to be there together.

Sighing again, I shook my head and decided to accept Josephine’s invitation. After all, with the exception of a quick supper of a simple, rustic stew brought by Lea an hour earlier, I’d been holed up in my room for most of the afternoon and into the evening, alternating between reading Dorian’s book and fussing over the locked box Leliana had given me. And I had yet to figure out either of them, much to my increasing frustration – the first was written in highbrow language with excessive flourishing that made my brain hurt, and the second was ridiculously delicate and difficult to solve, and that _also_ made my brain hurt. An elfroot potion was probably in order, but a nice warm tea would taste better.

_And I can’t risk disappointing Josie._

Figuring it was better to be early than late, I resolved to make my way to the War Room a bit ahead of time. Because of the increasing vexation that had built up over the course of the day, I wasn’t in the mood to do much of anything else anyway.

I smoothed my hair as I walked, making sure it was still held secure. I was yet garbed in my usual sans-hat uniform, plus breastplate and weapons. It was late enough I had considered changing into another outfit, but I ultimately decided against it. Until Lady Guillerose’s shipment of attire arrived, what I had was, apparently, not good enough. And so, it seemed the best option was to simply go with what I already had on that day.

When I finally pushed through the heavy doors of the War Room, tentatively peeking within, I noticed Josephine was, of course, there before me, making the preparations for the tea. A number of wooden chairs had been brought into the room, surrounding the table. Judging from the way the sky looked past the tall windows, the evening sun was already dipping behind the mountains, so the only significant light came from the tree root chandelier overhead, the candelabras in the corners, the few candlesticks on the table, and the sconces on the walls. It lent the room a significantly different atmosphere, with the new Inquisition banners, tapestries, and other various adornments swathed mostly in shadow.

The Ambassador looked up as I entered, smiling welcomingly as she arranged the dainty porcelain teacups and saucers on a wooden tray, a matching pot somehow puffing steam from its spout nearby. It was a set much like Vivienne’s, though much more subdued in design.

“You are here early,” she remarked. “Though I am most certainly glad you could come. I was afraid last night’s venture would leave you too… taxed.”

I sighed as I stopped at the edge of the table, closing my eyes briefly. “Does everyone know about that?”

Josephine straightened, giving me a short nod of affirmation. “Yes. I believe so, actually.” Pausing, she thought for a moment, her candlelit gaze drifting away briefly, and then explained the situation further.

“We saw you get up, and we thought at first it might have been for some fresh air,” she said. “But then Cullen left after you, and the both of you didn’t come back.”

She huffed and put one hand on her hip, returning her gaze to the teacups. “The Inquisitor was concerned about you both, and both he and Dorian started to search for you to make sure you were all right, but they saw the Commander’s armor up near the balcony over the gardens and realized you made it back to your room with a safe escort.”

_Oh._

So _that_ was how Dorian found out about it all. It made me feel a little better, knowing the others weren’t just snooping after me. Even though that was very likely a part of it, too. They had actually been concerned. It warmed me a little inside.

“Yeah, well,” I chuckled at length, my own gaze wandering elsewhere – anywhere but at her. “It was Cullen’s idea, not mine.”

Josephine laughed merrily at that. “Of that, I have no doubt,” she said with a grin. “Apparently his domain over the safety of the residents of this castle includes such potential accidents as falling down the stairs.”

At that moment, the teapot began its earsplitting whistle, and with a startled “Oh!” Josephine carefully lifted the pot to tap on a glowing orange rune embedded in the bottom, its brightness reducing significantly. “Water is ready.”

I briefly wondered if Vivienne’s teapot had that same kind of rune.

As the Ambassador began preparing the small tea ball for brewing, I meandered around the table a bit. “So, can I ask you something?” I asked eventually, remembering something that had been preying on my mind.

“Of course you may, Tamsyn,” she replied without looking up.

“How do you handle…?” I paused. “You know… the threat of being killed all the time?”

She glanced up, brow raised in curiosity at that. “What do you mean?”

I sighed, struggling to give my thoughts a voice. “You’re always so… _optimistic_. Even with threats swirling all around you all the time, you don’t let anyone get to you.” I shrugged. “Or, at least, it doesn’t _seem_ that way. How do you do that? How _can_ you do that? You’ve been in danger for a far greater portion of your life than I have, and I just…” I trailed, unsure of what else I could say to articulate my thoughts, and so I just let the words die in my throat.

She looked back down at the pot, silent for a few moments as she absorbed what I had just said. “Well, that’s an interesting question,” she began and then paused, fingers still on the handle of the pot. “I suppose I simply try not to think about it,” she said at last, a bit of a resigned chuckle in her reply. “Succumbing to fright gives many of these antagonists what they want. But of course, such a thing is much easier said than done.”

Returning her hazel gaze to mine, she added, “Perhaps it is so many years spent playing the Game that has, in essence, desensitized me to the risks. After all, the Game itself is synonymous with danger to one’s life.” She paused again. Then, in a quieter voice, she continued, “Still, I am very much aware of it, and even though it may not appear as such, it sometimes preys on my mind. But I make certain I don’t let our enemies have the satisfaction of knowing it.”

At that moment, our conversation was abruptly ended as the War Room doors creaked open again, and the Nightingale herself entered, a slight smile gracing her features as she approached the table and nodded to us both in quiet greeting. However, her sharp gaze didn’t linger on either of us long, instead traveling to the small pitcher on the tea tray that yet held the steaming pot.

“Oh, Josie!” she said excitedly, “We have cream?”

Josephine smiled almost proudly in response and nodded. “We do! A few milk cows arrived just this morning under the care of a capable dairyman,” she explained. “Cullen gladly took the opportunity to busy some of his more restless soldiers – they have been helping the man prepare a proper shelter for his cows in the valley not far from the camp, and I have already made arrangements to have a portion of the winter feed supply for the horses diverted there.”

“How many did we get from that Fereldan farm?” Leliana asked, leaning forward with her gloved fingers on the table.

Josie sighed and shook her head. “Only three, I’m afraid. It is all they could spare for us. But it is enough to supply the keep with fresh milk and cream for the time being, and I relayed my thanks for the farmers’ generous contribution. Cook will at least have some for her recipes, now, and anything that we do not use daily can be made into butter and cheese. Though I have contacted other farms about the acquisition of such. I do not think we will be lacking in _those_ particular items any longer.”

“Good,” Leliana replied, casting me a small smile as she added, “then maybe some of our guests can stop complaining about the ‘plain and rustic’ fare.”

The doors rattled once more, making us all glance that way, and to my great surprise, Cullen entered the room at last. I thought perhaps he would skip out on this little gathering, especially after already having had one evening cut into with the cocoa event. I feared he had seen Bull’s get-together as an utter waste of time, and I was certain he would have responded the exact same way to Josephine’s invitation, albeit much more politely.

I couldn’t know what was going on in his head, of course, but it amused me to think about the fact he might actually be apprehensive about drawing the Ambassador’s ire…

“Ah, Commander,” Josephine greeted him warmly as he approached us. “It is good of you to come. The tea is almost ready.”

He dipped his head to each of us. “Ladies,” he said, sounding faintly out of breath, though he did smile a little in return as he spoke. “I assumed this was another business meeting?” he added questioningly, holding up a stack of reports he held in one hand. Even his real life version never stopped working, it seemed. I caught motion out of the corner of my eye, and as Leliana turned away to move around the table, I thought I saw her roll her eyes.

“Of course,” the Ambassador nodded affirmatively, no evidence of her having seen Leliana’s expression anywhere on her own countenance. “Even with His Worship gone, there is still much to talk about.” She glanced to the Nightingale with an expectant look. “I have my own reports ready to cover. Leliana?”

“All in here,” she replied, tapping her temple with one slender finger.

“Good!” Josephine replied, picking up the pot, “I do believe the tea is ready. Please have a seat and relax.”

We then moved to our chairs, sitting in roughly the same positions we would have been in had we been holding a council meeting with the Inquisitor, though Cullen and Josephine were swapped. Josie poured each cup herself, but let us handle the cream and sugar; neither the Commander nor the Nightingale used the latter, I noticed, and only Cullen took cream. Josephine and I used generous amounts of both.

“Well, I do believe I’ll go first, since I do not have much to share,” the Ambassador began after she settled herself, pushing her cup and saucer out of the way of the papers she had brought. “Interestingly enough, we’ve actually received a letter from His Worship’s sister.”

 _Whoa_. That was interesting.

“Oh?” Leliana replied, brows lifted, and Cullen shared her expression as he glanced to me and then back to Josephine. “And what did she say in this letter?”

Josephine took a breath. “To put it simply… she is coming to Skyhold to speak with him.”

“She is?” Cullen asked. “Maxwell approved this already?”

“Of course not. He hasn’t had the time,” Josephine replied. “Trust me, if I had the chance, I would have asked the Inquisitor first, but he left before I could share the information.” She paused, taking a sip of her tea, almost appearing to steel herself. “No, her letter is quite clear: she is coming to Skyhold whether anyone here likes it or not.”

I felt my mouth open a little. That was completely unexpected. Two Trevelyans at Skyhold? My stomach instantly began to churn at the thoughts of what kind of trouble that might bring…

“Our guards can stop her at the gates,” Cullen said firmly. His tone and posture were such a sharp contrast to the daintiness of the cup and saucer he held in his hands that I had to fight to stifle a laugh.

“No,” Josephine shook her head emphatically. “Can you imagine what she would tell the world when she went elsewhere? No, we cannot refuse her as a guest. The political risk is too high. Now that her brother is Inquisitor, Lady Trevelyan has become incredibly influential in the Marches due to her familial connection to us alone. She knows it, hence her boldness.”

Leliana pursed her lips, teacup poised for a sip. “Something tells me this is only going to be trouble.”

“I hate to say it,” I began, dread knotting in my gut, “but I agree with Sister Nightingale. This isn’t something I’m familiar with, so it makes me worry.”

“I agree as well,” Cullen said. “We’ve already had troubles enough with the Inquisitor’s distant relatives. Now we have his close kin coming to our doorstep?”

“Did she even tell you the nature of this visit?” Leliana asked.

Josephine shook her head, “No. She said nothing about the reason for her visit. Only that it was an urgent matter and that she must speak with her brother personally.”

“Her journey will be long,” the Nightingale replied. “I will track the carriage. Find out as much as I can.”

“I will also prepare the men for her arrival,” Cullen added, rubbing briefly at his temples. “We already have proof the Venatori are active in the Marches. We do not know that the Inquisitor’s sister is not working with them. Who better to strike at him than his own kin, whom he trusts because of blood?”

Josephine nodded, “I will also attempt to find out more through my connections with the some of the more amenable of the Trevelyans. Perhaps if we can discern what the situation is at home, we can better guess what her reasons are for coming all the way to Skyhold.”

Before my brain could even cease its frantic processing of the developing situation, Josephine turned to me and offered me a small stack of parchment.

“I also have a few letters for you, too, Tamsyn,” she said.

I blinked. “Letters?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, and I took the paper cautiously. “From several… interested parties. They are specifically inquiring for your fortune telling capabilities,” she said, almost wincing. “In essence, they ask you to divine their futures.”

_Oh, God, save me from idiots._

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” I said flatly, letting the parchments drop onto the table in front of me with an unceremonious _plop_.

She sighed, picking up her teacup. “I am not, unfortunately.”

Leliana nodded her understanding. “Celene isn’t the only noble in Orlais interested in the occult, territory which your circumstances very nearly cross into, from the rumors about you alone. The word is that your abilities come from the Maker, but of course, as you’ve seen, many doubt such a thing. That leaves speculation that you are something more akin to a Rivaini seer.”

“A situation which is certainly not accepted by the Chantry in the rest of Thedas and is barely tolerated in Rivain itself,” Cullen added.

“Most Orlesians likely see your claims as a novelty at best and heinous blasphemy at worst,” Josephine continued. “You may, of course, choose not to reply to these letters, but I would advise you not to ignore them. Refusing to reply may paint you as a fraud.”

“But replying could tangle her in situations in which she cannot extricate herself,” Cullen pointed out. “These nobles want something extravagant. Something that will assure them their power won’t fade. Tamsyn cannot guarantee them that, and if she pretends to, and her so-called fortunes become false, what then?”

“The future only applies if the person stays his or her current course,” Leliana supplied. “It is easy enough to suggest that changes in lifestyle altered the outcome if it is different.”

“Factoring in personal choice,” Josephine added, nodding her understanding. Cullen didn’t seem very impressed by the idea, judging from the subsequent expression he wore – a look that involved the tiniest curl of his lip.

I sighed heavily, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose as I realized this was a monster I’d have to face head-on. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good,” Leliana said with an approving nod. Then, glancing to the others, she added, “As for myself, I’ve been focused on tracking this Venatori leader Calpernia in an attempt to find out how she is empowering her forces. She is good, and she is proving to be almost untraceable. However, my agents report there is a person of interest operating out of Val Royeaux. A merchant. Possibly Tevinter and probably Venatori, if not in full, then at least a contact. I will need to wait for more information before we make any certain moves, but I am passing along what I know to the Inquisitor by raven. I am hoping he can investigate, soon.”

Josephine took notes with her quill, the pen scratching lightly on a spare bit of parchment. “Perhaps I could coordinate that with a trip to the capital of my own.”

“Again?” Cullen asked, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Didn’t you just get back from there?”

The ambassador sighed. “Something… has come up,” she said quietly, “which I need to see to in person, with the Inquisitor’s aid. I have been attempting to squeeze another visit to the city into our schedule, but with His Worship so frequently gone from the castle and with the ball at Halamshiral arriving so soon, it has been a difficult thing to plan.” She shook her head. “Still, it must be done.”

“Well, perhaps the Inquisitor’s trip to the Emerald Graves will prove fruitful, and we can move along to other operations,” Cullen remarked reassuringly.

“Speaking of which,” Leliana added, “my scouts report that it has been difficult to maintain a foothold in that portion of Orlais. We’ll need heavier involvement if we are to keep our camps intact. Venatori and Red Templars are both deeply embedded there. I lost half a squad two days ago to Samson’s forces.”

Cullen nodded his understanding. “I’ve already ordered the deployment of reinforcing patrols to the Graves, the Exalted Plains, and beyond to support your scouts in the Western Approach. Judging from what reports I’ve gathered, the situation in the Plains is particularly volatile at the moment. There have been frequent demon sightings along the roads, and the number of rifts is significant.”

“What of the Orlesian forces entrenched there?” Josephine inquired. “I have been unable to get word from any of the commanders there, belonging to either Gaspard or Celene.”

Cullen sighed, his lips pressing together as he looked down at his notes. “I have received nothing but silence on that front, and that concerns me. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Winter is here, and opportunities to strike at each other will be increasingly difficult until spring arrives. However, Leliana’s agents have passed word along of several destroyed caravans along the roads through the Plains, and there has been no sign of troop movements outside of the encampments to investigate.”

“You think they are hiding from the demons, perhaps?” the Ambassador asked.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “And if the soldiers have holed themselves up, and no supplies are getting to them, they will quickly succumb to starvation.” He leaned back in his chair. “I will admit that I care little for how this civil war turns out in the end, but if such a large portion of the Empress and Grand Duke’s armies die in their encampments, then the forces that remain alive to face Corypheus will not only be significantly reduced, but also demoralized.”

“And thus the Empire will be much weaker,” Leliana observed. “Which is a threat to us all.”

“Precisely.”

“Yet there is only one of Maxwell,” Josephine added. “And he can only move so quickly.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Cullen agreed. “We must do our best to provide what aid we can in the meantime. It is all any of us _can_ do.”

Leliana gave the others a nod. “Even simply delaying enemy progress is of help. And speaking of which, I’ve sent messengers inquiring after those strange shards the Inquisitor found hopes of gaining some advantage over the Venatori who wanted access to them. None of the rebels, not even Fiona, knew anything about them or their creation, so I am awaiting responses from a few scholars in the Marches and the University of Orlais. I’ll know more in a matter of days.”

“The shards aren’t as important as you might suspect,” I said, finishing my tea. “But gathering them will give the Inquisitor a slight personal edge when he finds out what they’re for and uses them. And at least the Venatori won’t get it, then.”

“Good,” Cullen replied. “The slightest edge can tip a war.”

“What about you, Commander?” Josephine then asked. “Anything else of note?”

He nodded, thumbing through his reports. “Yes. In following up on the Inquisitor’s reports on the Storm Coast, our scouts believe they have discovered a Red Templar stronghold. They’ve taken over an abandoned Dwarven port, and they are likely responsible for the spread of red lyrium in the region. We’ll need to proceed with caution and get more information before we strike, but that outpost needs to be eliminated. It’s granting too easy an access to both Ferelden and the Marches.”

“And so they still maintain a foothold, even after all the Inquisitor has accomplished,” Leliana shook her head in disgust. “It is like trying to eliminate vermin.”

The conversation then slipped into lighter things, Cullen returning his attention to his papers while Josephine and Leliana began chatting in earnest, first about Inquisition matters, but quickly devolving into more frivolous conversation. I remained silent, merely listening and absorbing the goings-on. I had enough to think about with these stupid Orlesian nobles…

As I contemplated what to do about that particular problem, a sudden movement out of the corner of my eye made me glance up to see the source – Cullen, knocking back the rest of the tea almost as if it were a shot. It was then I perceived the slight shake in the Commander’s hand. I could tell he was trying to hide it by moving quickly, but the wobble was still quite evident, especially after the cup clicked three times against its saucer in a chattering sound. Leliana and Josephine seemed too immersed in their conversation to notice the change in the Commander’s disposition. But I saw the thinned lips, the furrowed brow, the slow closing of his eyes, and the shimmer of his breastplate in the light as he inhaled deeply – all signs that his patience was wearing thin with increasing rapidity.

 _Withdrawals_ …

Our eyes met, and I slowly set my saucer and empty cup down on the polished wood. But before I could say anything, Cullen abruptly stood up, the pommel of his sword whacking the surface of the table with a sharp _crack_ and eliciting a hiss of annoyance from him even as it caused Josephine to nearly jump out of her skin in fright. Even I flinched a little, despite knowing exactly where it came from. Both Josie and Leliana glanced upwards at Cullen in alarm, but he held up a hand reassuringly.

“My apologies,” he said. His tone held a note of breathlessness to it that he _almost_ managed to cover with a forced chuckle. “I just remembered I left something important I needed to look over in my office. I should go do that before I retire for the evening… I must say I am rather exhausted.”

“Of course,” Josephine replied with a dip of her head. “I think we have covered everything that needs sharing. Do not let us keep you, Commander.”

“Thank you for the tea. I rather enjoyed our conversation,” Cullen said, and I noticed he swallowed hard before adding, “A good evening to you, ladies.”

And with that, he swept around the table and strode for the war room doors, his crimson coat billowing in his wake before he disappeared in the hall beyond. As the door slowly creaked and clanged shut behind the Commander, Leliana, Josephine, and I all shared concerned looks and raised eyebrows.

“Well, that was rather sudden,” Josephine remarked at length. “Do you think one of us might have said something?”

Leliana shook her head, eyes fixed on the doors. “No. It’s something else.”

I took a breath, poking at the empty teacup. “The long days and intense stress are probably getting to him. I don’t think he was lying when he said he was tired.”

Josephine nodded. “I understand. It is difficult to enjoy anything when burdened with fatigue.”

“I agree. Perhaps we should call it a night early, as well,” Leliana replied, slowing standing herself. “With the Inquisitor gone, there’s little else we can do until more reports come in. We might as well take advantage of that time while we can, no?”

“Right,” I said with a nod of my own, taking my stupid letters in hand and tucking them into my sash to worry about later. “I’ll just take these and be off, then, myself. Good night, Nightingale. Ambassador.”

“Good night, Tamsyn.”

And with that, I, too, stood and turned, leaving almost as quickly as Cullen had before me. Hopefully, I’d be out of the side hall and past a few doors before the ever-observant Nightingale discovered I wasn’t heading for my room after all…

\------------------------------------------------------

Even though I had a sinking feeling I probably shouldn’t be doing what I was about to do, I wanted to check on Cullen and make sure he was all right. Despite fully well expecting his withdrawals to steadily worsen over the next few months, I was still worried by his sudden departure; he left the War Room in an awful hurry, and I feared he might need help, even if he didn’t want the others to know about it.

I passed through Josie’s office into the main hall at a quick pace, sticking close to the right-hand side wall and skirting around a lingering noble or two with polite nods of acknowledgment before slipping through the gardens door. There was now a completed wall stair – albeit a small one – that led to the battlements on that side of the castle, and hopefully by using that longer route to my destination, I wouldn’t be as conspicuous. The other two pathways involved passing through Solas’s rotunda, risking an encounter with Dorian, or down the main steps to the gatehouse wall in plain sight of everyone; thus, neither were optimal for my purposes.

Thankfully, the sun had long set by now, the sky an endless velvet black pocked with twinkling stars, and so it would be easy for me to blend with the darkness. The crescent moons, half-obscured by wispy clouds, offered only enough light to allow me to see where I was going, and the stone ramparts reflected very little of the silvery glow the celestial bodies bestowed upon the world. There were, of course, the patrols with their torches in hand, but they wouldn’t provide enough light to illuminate my face for anyone who happened to be watching from the keep…

I kept my pace brisk as I emerged on the battlements at last, a blast of frigid wind that pierced through my jacket doing as much to speed me onwards as the risk of more vicious rumors did. My hair whipped into my face, and I spat a few strands out of my mouth as I headed for the vacant tower before me. The stolid walls offered a brief respite from the wind, and I gathered my hair back together and held it with one hand before emerging on the other side to brave the cold again.

Thankfully, the patrols were spaced far enough apart that I didn’t physically run into anyone. And if any of the soldiers wondered why I was there, they didn’t say anything to me about it, merely offering a small nod of acknowledgment, if that. Despite the fact I realized they wouldn’t be very likely to question the presence of an Inquisition advisor unless they were so new they had no idea who I was, I still couldn’t shake the feeling I was doing something surreptitious. I could practically feel the Nightingale’s eyes on me as I went. Or maybe it was just my conscience nagging at me.

Namely because, if I was honest with myself, I knew good and damned well I didn’t have any business doing what I was doing.

Even with no official curfew, I had no business being at Cullen’s office at this hour. I had no business intruding in his personal space, and definitely not this late. And I certainly had no business prying for information about his withdrawals, something he wanted very few to know or even talk to him about. A part of me was screaming for me to turn my nosy ass around (or to cut down the wall stairs nearby) and go straight back to my room. And as my gloved fingertips finally brushed the handle of the gatehouse-side door to the Commander’s office, I had almost convinced myself to abort my mission at last and leave him alone in peace for the night.

But something stopped me.

I _had_ to know if he was all right. I had to know if there was something, anything, I could do to help. If I _needed_ to help for some reason. The powers-that-be certainly knew I’d screwed up enough things already and barely made it right. If my presence here – if my actions or inaction or both – had _anything_ to do with this little episode, then I needed to fix it before it was too late.

Hyperbole? Maybe. Implausible? Definitely not.

And even if I didn’t have anything to do with it, checking on his welfare was the right thing to do. What any real friend _should_ do when they sensed something very wrong.

Taking a breath, I attempted to pull the door open, but it didn’t budge. It was locked tight. Brow furrowing, I glanced to the window. The faint glow there told me the candles were yet lit inside, and so he definitely was still awake for now. But the locked door was a big fat sign visitors weren’t welcome. And yet, there I was, stubbornly ignoring it.

Sighing, I lifted my hand and knocked three times, the sound uncomfortably loud and hollow on the wood.

Silence.

Another blast of wind ruffled through my hair, and I shivered as I waited. Ten seconds… fifteen…

I was almost ready to turn around when the door abruptly opened.

“ _What now?_ ” Cullen growled out before realizing I wasn’t another scout or soldier come to bother him with more reports. “Oh! I’m sorry, Tamsyn, I didn’t expect you here,” he amended apologetically. “Is there something you needed from me?”

I noticed the weariness in his voice and immediately felt guilty for disturbing him. I couldn’t keep him long.

“Talk?” I asked, gesturing for the interior of the office.

“Oh, right,” he said, stepping aside so I could enter. “Of course.”

I quickly slipped by him and into the refuge of the watchtower. Unlike in-game, there was a small hearth on the gatehouse-side wall, adjacent to the corner closest to the keep, crackling occasionally with a modest fire. Thus, it was surprisingly warm within, albeit not nearly as warm as the main hall. Probably because of that giant draft coming in through the hole in his roof…

I heard Cullen latch the door again behind me, likely so no one else could interrupt our conversation, but it made me very aware of the fact I was _really_ alone with him now. Swallowing heavily and turning back around, I noticed he was still garbed in full gear, and he put one gloved hand to his head, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger as his brow crinkled in pain. His spaulders and vambraces glimmered in the firelight with the movement.

“I’m not sure I can be of much assistance to you at the moment, but I will try,” he said quietly.

I felt like my heart was tearing in two. Bless the sweet man’s soul. He was suffering terribly and still willing to help me if I needed it. But the silly thing never stopped to think the helping might be for _him_ , not me…

I shook my head with a small smile. “This isn’t about _me_ , Cullen. This is about _you_.” When he cast me a perplexed look, hand still poised midair, I added, “You look ill again. It’s the withdrawals, isn’t it?”

He half-heartedly chuckled as he meandered slowly to his desk, leaning with one hand along the edge for support as he moved behind it. “Was I that obvious at the meeting?”

“For the observant person who knows what you’re going through, painfully so,” I said. “Josephine thought she just might have said something to offend you, but Leliana is far more suspicious.”

“That woman is always suspicious,” Cullen grumbled, grunting and wincing as he sat. Well, it was more like falling into his chair, the buckles of his armor clattering a bit.

“So, I think it’s obvious you’re not all right,” I said at length, crossing my arms as I stayed right where I had stopped in the middle of the room. “What’s going on?” I raised an eyebrow at him as I remembered how he habitually neglected his sleep. “You _have_ been taking care of yourself, haven’t you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he hissed, no small amount of annoyance in his tone as he put his head in his hands and leaned against his elbows atop his desk.

Guilt slammed into me again in a rolling wave. I was doing this all wrong. I didn’t need to be here. I was bothering, not helping, that much was plain.

“Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling very small in that tower. The office itself was spacious enough it dwarfed the both of us, but in that moment, I felt even tinier. Like a mouse standing vulnerable in front of a very annoyed cat.

My legs moved for the nearest door of their own volition. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have disturbed you. I’ll just…”

“No, wait!” Cullen interjected, holding up both hands to stop me, a look of what appeared to be sheer desperation on his face. “Please. Stay.”

I gulped, and I fought to keep from giving him a deer-in-the-headlights look. “You… are you… um,” my tongue tripped over my words, like it was too big for my mouth. “I mean, are you sure? I thought I might…”

He nodded, head hanging forward as he closed his eyes. “Yes.  I… I’m not sure I can do this by myself. You’re the only one who understands… and…”

His hands clenched into fists as he shook his head and leaned more of his weight on the desk for support. “I thought it would pass,” he said, very nearly growling the words out. “I thought if I just got away from the chatter for a moment, I would be able to collect myself again, but it _won’t_ … _stop_ …”

“Please,” I said softly, honestly fearing for him now. “Tell me how I can help you.”

His voice became ragged. “I honestly don’t know. I can’t think. I feel drained. Weak. Hot _and_ cold. My head is… _killing_ me. I feel like I’m choking… like I can’t breathe…”

That sounded uncomfortably familiar.

Tentatively, I slowly moved around the side of the desk and continued to speak in a hushed voice, so as not to worsen what was undoubtedly a burgeoning migraine. “All right. First thing’s first. We need to get you out of this armor.” I gestured to his coat, quickly dropping my hand again so he wouldn’t see evidence of my anxiousness. “May I?”

He nodded wordlessly, leaning back a little and shrugging the coat from his shoulders. I reached forward and helped him out of it, pulling it from behind him and draping it on the back of the chair. He then unclasped his vambraces, and with his assent, I took them from his forearms along with the couters, setting them aside with a faint _clunk_ on the desk. That seemed to be the extent of his ability to remove his armor himself, however, because when he reached upwards to unbuckle the spaulders from his shoulders, his fingers were trembling too badly to get a proper grip on the leathers.

“Is this all right?” I asked, reaching for the buckle on his right shoulder. Only when he nodded again did I begin pulling it loose – I was hyper-conscious of the fact I was practically helping him undress, and I did _not_ want him to feel violated by my doing so. I kept reminding myself I was in his personal space, and that I could quickly wear out my welcome.

Unfortunately, I found the buckle was difficult (even for me) with gloved fingers, so tight and small were the fastenings. So I pulled off my gauntlets and then resumed my task. When I finally got both sets of spaulders free and on the desk, I was about to query again for his breastplate and vest, but I found the question died in my throat when he answered it for me.

“You don’t have to keep asking,” he said quietly. “I trust you.”

_I trust you._

Those three words nearly knocked me over and paralyzed me with astonishment. Because even though I knew our mutual trust was already shared (if a bit strained at times in the past) regarding the welfare of the Inquisition, that kind of trust and trust with our physical persons were two totally different things. And the latter was most certainly _not_ something Cullen Rutherford gave lightly. Not since what happened to him at Kinloch.

I nodded, swallowing thickly as I continued my task. Thankfully, he was able to unbuckle his own sword belt, which allowed me to quickly pull away the vest and sash it held in place. After setting those and the weapon he wore aside, I at last began to work on the final pieces of armor, my brow furrowing hard as I worked out the tight buckles and straps. All the while he was blessedly patient with me. Once unfastened from each other and unclasped like the vambraces, the gorget and breastplate both came apart in two separate pieces along nearly invisible seams, and at last, he was free.

For lack of a better place to put them at the moment, I placed all four cuirass parts on the desk with the other glimmering pieces of metal, careful to avoid his inkwell and candles, while he stretched backwards with his hands over his head, eyes squeezed shut. He took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to keep them slow, but I could tell it was with great difficulty.

“How else can I help?” I asked, figuring it best to let him direct me. There was no point running around assuming what he needed when I had no idea how best to lift his burdens.

He straightened, opening his eyes and blinking rapidly as if to clear blurry vision. “Armor stand, there,” he indicated a bare-bones wooden frame in the corner. “I’ll take care of this,” he said, beginning to pull off his gloves.

 _Of course_ the Commander would be concerned about properly putting away his armor even when incredibly ill. But if only to make him feel better, I silently complied with his request, taking each piece of metal and his sword and carefully assembling them on the primitive arms and torso of the stand. It saved him the legwork, at least, so it wasn’t like it was no help to him at all.

By the time I was finished, he had removed his gambeson and gloves, tossing them unceremoniously onto the seat of another chair in the near corner, beside the dummy he used for practicing throwing knives. I took the liberty of moving the discarded vest and sash to that chair as well, thus finally clearing his already cluttered desk of his abandoned gear.

“Feel any better?” I asked as he leaned forward with his elbows atop the desk again, head in his hands once more.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his fingers sliding into his hairline and mussing up the meticulous styling he’d done that morning. “I feel like I need water. There should be a skin around here somewhere. If you can find it in this mess.”

After a few seconds of searching around the near vicinity, I found it perched on a corner of the desk. Grabbing it and immediately uncorking it, I handed it to him, only to find that he was far too shaky to bring it to his lips on his own. I moved to assist him with it, guiding his hand with mine, conveniently overlooking the fact I was touching his bare fingers with my own…

…until it felt like I was holding _icicles_ in my grip.

“ _Shit_ , Cullen!” I cursed, unable to keep the thoughts unvoiced. “Your hands are like ice!”

He groaned, letting the waterskin drop from his lips. “How can that be when my skin is on fire?”

“No idea, really, but it can’t be good, can it?” I said, gently taking the skin from his weak grasp and corking it once more. I set it back where I found it and then, swallowing back my nerves, gestured for his hands and added, “Here.”

His brow knitted momentarily, as if uncertain about what I meant, but then he extended his hands towards me. Carefully, cautiously, I took them in my own with the sole intent of banishing the unnatural, withdrawal-induced cold that had seeped into them. But once his fingers slipped against mine, our hands instantly wrapping around each other, I couldn’t help but feel heat rising in my cheeks – a heat I willed with all my might to go away. I hoped it was dark enough in the office, especially with my back to the fire, to hide it.

_Stop it…_

Part of me couldn’t help it, though. Here I was, leaning against the edge of Cullen Rutherford’s desk, holding Cullen Rutherford’s hands…

They were large enough to completely envelop mine, my right trapped wholly in his grasp while my left curled overtop both of his. A mix of rough and soft, they were calloused in places from practicing swordsmanship without gloves, and had they been warm, I would have melted into a puddle on the spot.

But they weren’t. They were unnaturally cold, the flesh pale even in the low lighting of the office, and despite the occasional unstoppable flutter of my heart and the grip of anxiousness in the pit of my stomach, the most intense emotion I felt in that instant was worry, and the seemingly endless trembling of his muscles only intensified it. He was suffering, and I had no idea if I was making it any better at all.

It was as if his fingers sought the warmth of mine all on their own, sliding against and squeezing my hands tighter. I adjusted my hold and squeezed right back, smiling gently and, hopefully, in a reassuring way that told him it was okay to do this. That this was for his benefit, and I didn’t mind one bit.

It must have worked, because he finally lowered his head and closed his eyes, still holding on to me. A violent tremor shuddered through him, and I briefly squeezed his hands a little harder. Uplifted above his head as they were, he looked as though he were beseeching the Maker to help him, which I had no doubt he was in that moment. And even though it might not have been of any use, I briefly offered my own prayers to the Andrastian god to help this poor man persevere.

“You can do this,” I said quietly, briefly breaking the heavy silence. “This will pass. And until it does, I’m not going anywhere. It’s all right.”

There was no verbal response from him, but I hoped he believed me. I hoped he knew that if there was any strength he could draw from me, he could have it all.

We sat there like that for what felt like an eternity. An eternity I was fully willing to endure. It was odd, how not that long ago I was the one being comforted by so many others, including Cullen. And now, the tables had turned, and I was the one doing the comforting – first Sean, now Cullen himself. There was more than enough pain to go around, and we all needed to hold on to each other, in more ways than one.

At last, though, the almost endless trembling in his hands finally began to subside. When I detected he was finally loosening his grip on me, I immediately did the same, and our hands fell awkwardly away from each other. I instantly missed his touch, but forced myself to keep my hands away, instead moving them back to grasp the edge of his desk.

_This isn’t about you or what you want._

“Better now?” I asked with a small smile, hopefully easing the awkward tension that was left hanging in the air between us.

He nodded, a huff of air escaping him. “Yes. A little.”

“Good,” I answered, smile broadening. “And your head?”

“Better, though not entirely gone,” he replied, wincing as he twisted his neck. “At this point, an elfroot potion should do to help, though.” He paused and glanced up at me, a faint smile on his face. “It worked last time, after all.”

I chuckled nervously, trying not to blush beet red at his memory of the last time I’d helped him through withdrawals. “So it did…”

He let out a long sigh. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to look after me like I’m a sick child.”

I frowned. “I don’t feel obligated. I want to. Because I worry about you. You, on the other hand, shouldn’t feel obligated to go through this alone. Because you don’t have to.”

He blinked. His expression was difficult to read, especially in the low light of the office, but it appeared to be a mixture of protestation and surprise. At least, knowing his personality like I thought I did, that was what I assumed was going through his mind.

“But, I should ah… probably go,” I continued, backing away from the desk and slowly retreating across the office to the door I’d come through earlier, feeling increasingly awkward the longer I stayed. “Before the watch starts talking, if they haven’t already. You need your rest if you’re to fully recover, and so I’ll just, um… leave you to it.” I nodded to him respectfully and smiled my farewell. “Sleep well, Commander.”

I then spun around on my heel and had just touched the handle of the door when he stopped me.

“But Tamsyn?”

I glanced backwards, a little curious but slightly apprehensive, too. “Yes?”

His answering smile was soft. “Thank you. Truly.”

\------------------------------------------------------

When I returned to my room and crawled into bed at last, I found myself weeping silently into my pillow.

The crushing and fangirl squeeing was definitely over. I was falling… falling for Cullen, hard and fast, and yet I couldn’t stop myself. I knew it would only end in disaster, but I couldn’t _not_ care about him. I just couldn’t. And that was going to leave me wide open for a broken heart.

I had to brace myself for the pain that was going to come. That had come before already. I did it three times over. I could do it again.

It was only a matter of time.

Three times I had almost been in a relationship. Almost, being the key word. All of them had ended before they really even started.

The first was a guy – a classmate in high school – whom I thought was really cute and funny. Until the first date, and he wanted to do more than just hold hands. And wanted to do more than kiss… which, for him, was nearly eating my face off. But I didn’t want to go any further than that, and when I refused to put out, he broke up with me that instant. We never spoke to each other again.

The second was a guy a mutual friend set up with me on a blind date. As it turned out, he was one of the school’s football players… a tall, good-looking young man with a dazzling smile. But when he walked into the restaurant where we were to meet and saw me for the first time, he did a double-take and then involuntarily took a step backwards from me. He tried to cover it up, but I knew from his expression he was surprised, and not in a good way. He had been disappointed, and his initial reaction betrayed it despite his efforts to convince me otherwise. I was inconsolable. I ran out of the restaurant and immediately went home, crying all the way.

The third was a guy I met during my senior year. We talked in class together for months, and we became good acquaintances. Slowly, over time, I began to really crush on him, and then, one day, I gathered the courage to confess my feelings to him, almost certain he would reciprocate judging from our interactions beforehand. And indeed, I thought perhaps he _did_ feel the same, considering his response to my confession.

But I must have read him wrong, because then he began dating someone else the very next day. Even going so far as to introduce her to me personally. My heart was broken more than it had been the first two times combined.

After that, I never dated again – not during my college career or after. I devoted myself to my studies and my work, shutting out almost everything else. I hardly socialized with anyone, save Abigail, who became my very best friend… better than all the so-called friends I had before.

It was better that way. I wasn’t the sort of person anyone wanted to be with, and that was obvious.

I’d been plagued with teasing for much of my life, but especially in my teenage years. With my square-rectangle face that was mannish to most people, heavy-lidded eyes, skinny giraffe neck, and sometimes unruly hair, I wasn’t what anyone I knew would call typically pretty. On top of that, I excelled at academia, I spoke my mind regardless of what anyone else thought, and I didn’t take any crap for the sake of keeping peace. I didn’t ass-kiss, and I was absolutely terrible at playing the social game, which probably heavily factored into my hatred of the Orlesian sport Leliana and Josie loved so much.

And so, I had few friends and no love life.

I was just the same Tamsyn now as I was then. Why would that change, even in Thedas?

_At best, I’m plain. I cause everyone more trouble than I’m worth. And now I’m butting into Cullen’s personal space, all because I can’t stay away from him. He’s better off without me adding to his burdens. How could he want someone like me?_

I sobbed uncontrollably, unable to keep those terrible thoughts from drowning me.

_You do nothing but drag everyone else here down. Why would he want you?_

_He’ll never want_ you _._


	42. Chapter 42

A week later, and it was the sixth of Haring. The end of the year was bearing down on us, and both it and the masquerade ball at Halamshiral were only a mere two dozen days away. Time was flying by so quickly it made my head spin – time during which it had been frighteningly easy to forget that a crazed darkspawn magister was somewhere out there plotting the end of all things in order to become a god.

Skyhold was so insulated and isolated both – blessedly free from the direct threats that the Venatori and Red Templars posed to everyone else outside the towering Frostback peaks. The castle’s impenetrable nature and deceptively placid surroundings constantly threatened to lull all of the occupants, including myself, into dangerous complacency. It took daily reports carried on swift raven wings to continuously remind us of the forces our people fought against and the enemies the Inner Circle had to thwart in every other corner of the world.

The most recent intelligence gathered by Leliana’s scouts included news that the Mayor of Crestwood, having fled after the Inquisitor’s discovery of the true events that had unfolded at the town a decade ago, had finally been captured by King Alistair’s soldiers. He had been summarily handed over to the Inquisition agents now stationed at Caer Bronach. Arrangements for his transport to Skyhold had already been made, and he was on track to be at the castle awaiting judgment by the time Maxwell returned from the Emerald Graves. It seemed the crown of Ferelden was content with leaving his fate in the Inquisitor’s hands, judging from that reaction. I knew Maxwell thought little of the man for his actions, however justified they might have seemed to the Mayor himself at the time, and I wondered what the Inquisitor would ultimately decide to do with him when he got back…

But more people than just the Mayor were on their way to Skyhold. We also received news through Varric that Bianca Davri had finally answered his letters and had reluctantly agreed to meet up with him at the castle. Personally, I wasn’t looking forward to her arrival, and I wasn’t entirely sure Varric was, either. For one thing, I didn’t like her as a person anyway, both for her snotty attitude and for her dragging the Inquisition into a mess she created all on her own. For another, if Varric had told her I was the one who let him know about what she’d done, I knew she’d be _very_ angry at me. And I also knew that if she blew up at me, I wouldn’t be able to be civil with her. Not even for Varric’s sake.

It wasn’t going to be pretty.

To make matters even worse, we had Evelyn Trevelyan’s impending appearance to worry about, too. Knowledge of her involvement in all this began to seriously worry me, especially after both Josephine and Leliana were silent on anything they had discovered about her, if they had unearthed anything at all. Just by the tone the Ambassador had hinted about in the Lady’s letter, I feared what kind of trouble she would bring to the Inquisition, and Cullen had a significant point about her being a less-than-trustworthy character. I guessed she was already well on her way by the time Josephine had received the correspondence, and so I calculated that she would likely be arriving at Skyhold just before Halamshiral.

Lucky us.

On the whole, though, I let the others worry about those issues, as there was very little I could do about them myself. For the duration of that week, I mostly stayed hidden in my chambers – first in my usual room, and then my new suite in the Inquisitor’s tower. Following the whirlwind of activity and renovation that had occupied the tallest portion of the keep for the past few weeks, work had finally finished on the apartments within – likely helped along by all the extra hands we had rescued during Haven’s fall. With Lea’s assistance, I quickly relocated all of my meagre possessions to my new quarters, right alongside the others who had stayed on the same garden-side balcony. Maxwell had long transferred to his suite of course, Cassandra had taken up residence in the armory, Solas stayed in his rotunda, and Blackwall had been using the barn… but that still left me, Josephine, Leliana, Varric, Vivienne, and Dorian to move our sleeping arrangements to the tower proper.

My new room was about half the size of Maxwell’s suite. Instead of one small window, I had two much larger ones, now, which allowed daylight to pour within, bringing bright sunlight into the otherwise cold stone room. They were each draped with heavy crimson damask curtains that could be pulled closed for privacy. There was a small brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling overhead, much the same in style as the one in the main hall. The ceiling itself was a good two feet higher than that of my old room, also serving to open up the room and make it seem less like a monk’s cell. A small fireplace was on the same wall as it would have been in Maxwell’s quarters, giving even more light and warmth to the space, especially at night. On the hearth was an iron kettle that could be used to heat water for various purposes, and there was a fanciful tea cart nearby with a modest assortment of differently-sized drinking vessels assembled atop it, most of them pewter, though there were a few painted ceramic ones.

A much larger bed than I was accustomed to sat on the opposite wall, and it was almost as large as the one I had slept in at Lady Guillerose’s estate; part of me hoped it was just as comfortable. Similar in style to Maxwell’s, though the mahogany frame was not nearly as elaborate, its four-poster design also sported a canopy, drapes, and bedding that matched the curtains. Beside it was a simple nightstand with a ceramic washbasin, and, squatting at the foot of the bed, was a decently-sized iron-reinforced chest for simple storage.

In the far corner between the bed and the window wall had been placed a standing mirror in a brass frame, as well as an empty wooden washtub that was significantly larger than my old one. Next to that stood a tall mahogany wardrobe, and underneath the windows had been placed a matching dresser. On the wall next to the fireplace were a small desk and chair very similar in style to the delicate tea cart. Another more cushioned chair and matching footstool sat on the other side of the hearth in the corner right next to said cart, both also upholstered in fabric that matched the bed and the curtains.

Adjacent to the door, then, was a bookshelf the same height and material as the wardrobe, and mostly empty for now save for a few odd knickknacks and the few tomes I had to my name. The walls and floors themselves weren’t bare, but decorated with Inquisition tapestries and thick rugs in gold and crimson to better hold in the warmth from the fire.

All and all, I could see myself spending quite a lot of time there. And during that week after Maxwell departed Skyhold, I did. I left these new chambers only to join Leliana in archery practice in the afternoons. I took my meals there via Lea, as usual, and in between I alternated between reading the book Dorian had given me (and largely failing to make sense of it) and working on the lockpicking project Sister Nightingale had bestowed on me (and largely failing again).

Though frustrating, however, these activities served as convenient excuses for me to ignore the stack of Orlesian letters that I had yet to reply to.

Not that I didn’t make the attempt in those days – the ruined and crumpled parchments I left in a circle in the floor around my desk chair were testaments to that. But I still hadn’t crafted a suitable reply worth sending; somehow, these were far, far more difficult to write than the consolation letters had been. And so, I continuously gravitated back to tasks that were equally non-productive, and yet were seemingly far more valuable wastes of my time.

But then, after flipping past a particularly dull and nonsensical article in the _Realitas Imagina_ , I came to the realization that I was also subconsciously avoiding Cullen.

I’d seen him in the courtyard the morning after his episode looking as healthy as he always did, so I knew he was all right. And I suspected he would be. Even though this particular withdrawal incident had come upon him quickly, the worst of it seemed to have passed almost as fast once he was able to collect himself. It wasn’t anything like the first one I’d helped him through, where he’d suffered a fever that lasted nearly the entire night. He’d been rather lucky this time, and so I didn’t feel as bad about not checking up on him afterwards.

Keeping to myself right now was in my own best interest, of course. The more time I spent with Cullen, the more I would hurt myself in the long run. And, on top of that, I felt I needed to put some distance between us to let the inevitable rumors die down about the night I’d slipped into his office. I feared the whole affair would only serve to reinforce the suggestion I was some sort of interloping succubus sucking the righteousness and integrity out of the Inquisition. It was with great embarrassment that I remembered the awful rumors that had swirled the morning after I’d helped him through withdrawals the first time, and guilt consumed me as I also recalled Vivienne’s words of warning about public image. I couldn’t rightly expect her and Leliana to fix the same mistake again.

I was certain it was in his best interest, too. Threads of gossip pulled through the castle wove a tale of seemingly endless troubles from our various forces. During the last few days alone, an explosive fight had broken out between a few of the soldiers in the Herald’s Rest, three of his men had badly hurt themselves during routine training down at the camp, a pair of opportunistic rebel mages had decided to try and attack the gate guards while escaping from Skyhold, and an entire patrol had returned barely alive from a vicious red lion attack in the mountains. And that wasn’t half of the stories I heard over the course of the whole week. Suffice it to say, the good Commander had his hands full, and any interaction with him on my part would only serve as an unnecessary distraction from far more important tasks.

He had an army to keep and a castle to protect in order to do his part to save the world, and the best thing I could do right now was just stay out of the way and stay away from him.

But even as much as I told myself that, I couldn’t help my mind wandering.

Every single day.

 _Don’t think about him,_ my conscience told me. Over and over it told me.

But I did. Oh, I did…

_Don’t think about his gentlemanly nature… his kindness or his courtesy. Don’t think about his unwavering dedication… his courage and his integrity. Don’t think about his inspiring leadership… his strength and his spirit…_

I found myself slamming the book shut mid-paragraph and pacing around my room before diving into my lockpicking endeavor with increased fervor, determined to drive him from my mind with rattling tumblers and the _clink_ of tiny tools between my fingers.

_Don’t think about his rare, soft smiles or his teasing smirks, or the occasional mischievous glint in his beautiful eyes. Those eyes like amber whiskey – warm and intoxicating…_

I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw throbbed as I busied myself with personal hygiene, biting back a yelp when I accidentally sliced open my calf again and the cut stung like fire when soap slid into it. But even that pain was only a momentary distraction.

_Don’t think about the shape of his lips and that jagged scar. Don’t imagine what it would feel like to kiss them…_

I plunged my head under the water in my new bathtub, hoping that the sound of nothing but liquid in my ears would drown out my thoughts and give me some relief.

_Don’t think about that night in his office, when only one thin layer of russet linen stood between you and that magnificent body you know to be gorgeous, the loose laces at his collar offering a teasing peek of muscle beneath…_

I buried my head in my pillow so hard my neck ached, trying desperately to go to sleep and lose myself in the bliss of not thinking of _anything_ , but I couldn’t. I couldn’t….

_Don’t think about if circumstances had been different and how you might have allowed yourself to find out whether or not his hair was soft as silk or stiff from his styling, if those golden curls would wind around your fingers in grasping tendrils if you ran them through the thick and shining locks…_

I felt like I was going mad. Absolutely nug-shit insane.

And yet, despite feeling as though I were unraveling at the seams, I was doing rather well at minding my own business for the entirety of the week. That was, until for some unknown reason, _someone_ decided she had had enough of me staying out of the way and hiding in my room…

I had just curled up with Dorian’s book once more, sitting in my plushy chair near the roaring fire and feeling rather comfortable despite my never-ending distraction. Through the windows, I could see big, fat snowflakes falling steadily outside, quickly coating the towers and battlements I could see in a sheet of brilliant white fluff. I smiled to myself, genuinely glad I was in my suite and not out there in it like the sentries had to be.

_Bang-bang-bang-bangety-bang-bang!_

An awkward rhythm was rapidly rapped on my door. Sighing heavily in irritation at being interrupted right when I had gotten comfortable, I got up and made my way over to it, opening it just as the rhythm started again.

And there was Sera, hand poised midair, a look of absolute determination etched on her face. There was a heavy woolen cloak around her shoulders and a thick scarf wrapped around her neck.

“Sera?” I said tentatively, suddenly feeling somewhat alarmed at having the Red Jenny at my door.

“Well _there’s_ Weirdy Broody-Breeches,” she replied somewhat cantankerously, putting her hands on her hips and cocking them in a sassy posture. “If it wasn’t for servants’ talking, I’d have thought you were dead up here or something.”

At first I wasn’t sure how to reply to that, so I merely shrugged, glancing back at the book in my chair. “There’s a lot coming,” I said at last. “So there’s a lot for me to read and think about.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” she waved her hand dismissively. “Time for that’s over. You need a break. Get a fuzzy warm thing and come on! If you’ve got a fuzzy warm thing, that is.” She then shoved her blonde head past the doorway to look nosily into my room. “Oooh… fancy…”

I shoved her back out. “ _Out_. So, let me get this straight. You’re _wanting_ me to spend time with you? Me? The Weirdy One with a capital W?”

“Yeah? You got a problem with it?” she asked defensively, crossing her arms.

I grabbed my cloak and scarf from where they hung on a stand behind the door with a sigh, starting to put them on. “Well, no, but-”

“Then shut the cocoa trap, yeah?” she said, grabbing me firmly by the wrist and forcefully pulling me into the stairwell. “You need some fun. I’ve got just the thing.”

_Oh boy…_

She barely gave me a chance to shut the door and secure my cloak and scarf before dragging me down the stairs, not letting go even as we emerged in the main hall. The guests and workers taking refuge from the snow outside gave us odd looks as we passed them. I could only offer an awkward smile in return – what they made of it, I had no idea, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

She pushed through the main doors of the hall, and a blast of cold air struck me in the face with a stinging slap, huge snowflakes swirling past and skittering across the stones behind us. The accumulation was already thick enough it was difficult to see the individual steps on the keep stairs, but Sera kept plowing on unchecked, hauling me with her. The snow itself was falling so quickly I couldn’t even see any lingering evidence of how she had entered the keep in the first place, leaving me half suspecting she climbed the walls like a spider or launched herself from the tavern somehow…

When we finally stopped, we were in the courtyard area between the Herald’s Rest and the armory, surrounded by a sea of white that was only getting thicker by the minute. There was no wind, allowing the snow to accumulate steadily, and it fell so thickly I could only see a few yards in front of me; the towers of the fortress effectively disappeared in the muted grey around us.

Sera immediately bent down upon letting go of me, gathering some snow into a pile at her feet. “You said you used to build snowmen, yeah? Then let’s build one! A big one right where everyone can see it.” She paused, straightening, and then clapped her hands as she thought of a better idea. “No wait… a _bunch_ of them!”

I blinked.

_Snowmen? Really? And she remembered…?_

“Well what are you standing there, for?” she said, gesturing at the snow as though I was an idiot. “You forget how?”

“No, it’s just-”

She wrinkled her nose and replied as though she had read my mind. “What, you didn’t think I’d remember what you said that night at the tavern? _I_ wasn’t the one sloshed after the first round.” Per her usual way, she erupted into mad giggles for a few moments, and then just as abruptly stopped. “Wait, guess that wasn’t so funny for you was it? Bull had a nice idea but it all went _pbthhhhh_ with Leliana. _”_ She punctuated the raspberry with downturned thumbs. “And Cully-Wully’s help, of course. Couldn’t have done it without him, too,” she added, glancing off. “Who’d have thought he wasn’t so straight-laced after all…”

Returning her attention to me, she grinned mischievously. “Anyway, that was nice but this is _nicer_. Because it’s my idea. So dig in, yeah?” she said, bending down to scoop more snow towards her.

Unable to stop myself from mirroring her grin, I relented, getting to work establishing the base for my very first snowman in Thedas.

The snow just kept coming. It stuck in my hair and plastered itself to my clothes even as it did the same to Sera, making us appear as though we’d been dusted in confectionary sugar. Both of us puffed out clouds of white vapor as we toiled in the deepening white blanket, and I could feel a sweat breaking out that made me shiver as the cold air hit the sheen of moisture on my skin. We were definitely going to need a warm fire and warm drinks after this…

Before long, we both had established two giant bases for life-size snowmen and were working on the bodies. Sera chattered away as she worked, mostly to herself. “Get up there!” and “Stupid snow!” were among her fussier phrases. All the while, she didn’t stop smiling, and I found that smile infectious.

At last, we both had bases, bodies, and heads for the snowmen, the falling flakes serving to help fill in any gaps we missed. Hers was surprisingly artistic, while mine was a bit lopsided and needed some corrective snow surgery in a few spots.

Sera giggled as she took a step back. “Right, now who’s yours gonna look like?”

My brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“We gotta make ‘em look like people we know,” she said. “It’ll be better!”

“Uhhh, all right,” I replied at length, unsure if she had a good idea. “If you say so.”

Mine, with its already slightly lumpy appearance, looked like it could be a potential Josephine. With a few purposeful flourishes, I could turn those lumps into frilly clothes. I found a couple of sticks – fallen branches from the courtyard trees – that I bent into arms and began building around, giving the Snow Ambassador her signature poofy shoulders and ruffled sleeves. I then added to the base, smoothing it outwards so it looked more like a skirt. Slowly, carefully, I added more and more bits to my snow sculpture, managing to add what looked like Josie’s bun to the snowman’s (or in this case, snowwoman’s) head.

I then began to draw in the snow with my gloved finger to add details. I traced in her belt and overdress, making swirling patterns like those on the real clothes she wore. With a bit of manipulation around where the head joined the torso, I managed to recreate her satin cravat. I fussed a bit more over the sleeves, added a kindly smiling  face, and then stepped back, a bit bummed that I had no way of adding her signature clipboard and candle or quill.

It was then I glanced in Sera’s direction to see what she was up to…

…and I nearly choked.

She had recreated _Cullen_.

She was just finishing with the final flourishes when I looked over in her direction, and she stepped back again with a proud “Tada!” as she held out her arms in presentation.

She had added _everything_. Somehow, immersed as I was in my own creation, she had slipped away to procure a practice sword that she then stuck to the Snow Commander’s side. She had drawn in the vest with her finger, complete with squiggly embroidery, and then thrown what looked like a spare bearskin rug around the shoulders, which were built up so thickly to represent Cullen’s armor that they looked like a football player’s padding. His hair had been fully represented, too, although it appeared less like the Commander’s neat styling and more like Elvis’s pompadour. And on top of that, she had drawn a cartoony face with stern brows and a small mouth in an unamused straight line. Complete with scar.

I died laughing.

I dropped to my knees and sank into the snow, erupting in mad giggles that rivaled her earlier cackling. I laughed and laughed until my stomach ached and tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. And then I laughed some more.

She wrinkled her nose again. “Oy you, what’s so… _uh oh!_ ”

Her sudden change in tone and her subsequent backing up a step caused me to glance in the direction of her gaze…

And there was the _real_ Commander, standing calf-deep in the snow with a heavy crimson cape around his shoulders, head cocked at his wintry counterpart. He then glanced down at me, a complete look of befuddlement on his face.

“I thought I heard a commotion out here. What are you two up to?” he asked, the slightest hint of uncertainty in his tone.

I grinned sheepishly. “Um… snowmen?”

“I see that,” he replied flatly. “But… is that supposed to be me? And Josephine?” he asked, gesturing at them.

“Well, yes,” I began, feeling my cheeks reddening. “You see, it was Sera’s idea, and-”

_Smack!_

My jaw dropped as a snowball shattered against the side of Cullen’s head, spraying bits of white everywhere. I held my hand over my mouth, still kneeling with snow up to my butt, eyes wide as I watched him slowly turn his head in Sera’s direction with a fiery flare in his gaze.

_Smack!_

And then, suddenly, I was struck too, another snowball smashing into _my_ face and stinging with both its force and the intense cold. My shock amplified tenfold, I slowly got back to my feet to see Sera already reared back again like a pitcher on a baseball mound, her tongue sticking out between her teeth.

Cullen glanced to me, and I glanced back, an unspoken message passed between us.

And then we both nodded in grim determination.

He dodged the elf’s next throw and answered with a hastily-made snowball of his own. I followed suit, mine a little more solid due to the time he had conveniently bought me. It was then I finally glimpsed Sera’s fellow culprit and enabler – _Sean!_ The boy had a huge grin plastered to his round face, as he already had a whole line of snowballs just waiting to be thrown.

“Two to two, we can take them!” Cullen said in a commander’s rallying tone, as though he were instructing his troops on the battlefield and _not_ engaging in an impromptu snowball fight.

_Smack!_

Another snowball struck him on the back of the head, and we both whirled around to see the source.

“You sure about that, Commander?” came a familiar brogue.

 _Rylen!_ The cloaked Knight-Captain was grinning as widely as Sean and already crafting his second throw. But before he could even take aim, another snowball came out of nowhere and struck _him_ , exploding against the silvery steel of his helmet and rendering him momentarily stunned.

“Did someone call for reinforcements, perhaps?”

 _Leliana_. The Nightingale had perched on the keep stairs, Josephine alongside her, both also bundled up with cloaks and scarves and the Ambassador with a neat snowball held in one gloved hand.

“And I must say that is quite the flattering portrait,” Josie remarked before launching her snowball at Sera, who deftly dodged the white missile but was obviously terribly pleased at her joining the fight.

The frigid and snowflake-filled air was filled with laughter – Sean’s and Sera’s, but also Rylen’s, Leliana’s, Josephine’s, mine, and yes, Cullen’s – as we pelted each other with snowballs over and over, chasing each other around the courtyard as best as we could in such deep snowfall. Such a delightful sound was far too uncommon coming from the Commander; he rarely offered more than a chuckle of mirth from time to time. It warmed my soul to hear it, and any irritation I had harbored towards Sera for dragging me out in such weather vanished in a single instant.

Our pealing voices ringing out on the stone walls gradually summoned more into the fray, including the rest of the children of Skyhold, and I could see yet others’ faces plastered to the windows of the towers and keep, watching the battle below. Little Marianne joined in at Sean’s side, her mouth open in sheer joy as she took aim at whomever she could. Even Ser Fleurice pitched in to assist, helping the girl pick vulnerable targets. Varric had emerged, too, and despite his distaste for the cold, he settled for filling in the role Sean played on Sera’s team, rolling up snowballs and handing them to me to throw with quick efficiency. Before long, Iron Bull and Krem were both plowing a path out of the Herald’s Rest to join in, the Chargers following with almost child-like enthusiasm.

And then the scene became even more chaotic when Dorian finally animated the snowmen, transforming them into moving obstacles that served as magical shields for my side of the war. Even Vivienne had come out on her balcony to add her wintry skills to the mix, gathering the snow into tiny balls as it fell and creating storms of them that pelted random targets, much to the children’s delight.

When at last we had each worn ourselves out, Sera and Cullen called the battle a draw, and we summoned Cabot and the rest of the tavern staff to mix up more cocoa to enjoy – _without_ whiskey, this time. What with the guests holed up in every possible space that day, there wasn’t room for us all to congregate in the Herald’s Rest and enjoy our drinks, and so, after happily parting ways, we headed back to our own quarters with steaming hot chocolates in hand. We were each thoroughly exhausted, but in a good way, and there was not one of us who didn’t have a smile on our faces the whole way back as we slowly separated from each other. We had crackling fires awaiting us at our hearths, and though the head servants would surely admonish us for needing warm baths drawn, it had definitely been worth it.

_Yes, this is better._

For warming my heart and lifting my spirits when I sorely needed it, I owed Red Jenny. I owed her _a lot_.

\------------------------------------------------------

_Dear Lady Tamsyn,_

_I am most pleasantly surprised and pleased to hear from you. Of course I accept your apologies, even though they are certainly not required._

_Perhaps it will be of some small comfort to you to know that since the dreadful attack at my estate, I have dismissed my entire staff, including Lucien and my dearest Annelise, both of whom I have sent to the Inquisition, which I trust will keep a proper eye on them. The Nightingale is, unfortunately, correct – we cannot trust anyone in these dark times, not even those we consider closest to us. It is a sad and difficult truth to admit, and it darkens my spirits to do so. But it is something we cannot forget, lest it cost us dearly._

_Furthermore, as a sign of my goodwill, I have enclosed a special gift for you. My sister gave these to me not long before she died, Andraste bless her soul. I have no heirs to leave them to, and I do not know how many more years the Maker will grant me. Thus, it is probably for the best that I give them to someone whom I know will use them well. I do think they will suit your needs far better than mine, and if their hidden function is used but once, they will have served their purpose._

_Additionally, by the time you receive this letter, your Inquisition should have all of its requested items delivered safe and sound. We have worked tirelessly these past weeks to provide the Inquisitor’s own with only the very best. I sincerely hope you enjoy the designs I created for you, my lady. Please let me know if they are to your liking._

_May it also please you to know I will be attending the ball at Halamshiral alongside the Inquisition. After all, how could I miss the opportunity to see the waves my work will create in person?_

_I do hope we can speak again there._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Ysabelle Guillerose_

_PS: Twist and pull._

Brow furrowing, I folded the letter I received the next morning, setting it aside on my desk to focus on the unadorned, slender black box that had accompanied it. An intrigued Lea watched from over my shoulder, having been the one to deliver the parcel to me alongside the other boxes of clothing from the Guillerose guild. The poor woman had barely made it through the door, and I briefly wondered how she had managed to make it up the stairs with such a load.

“Did she say what that was?” Lea asked curiously, hands behind her back as she bounced a little on the balls of her slippered feet.

“No,” I said with a shrug, peering at the plain box. “Only that it has a ‘hidden function’ of some sort.”

“Oooh,” she replied. “That sounds very Orlesian.”

“Too Orlesian to suit me,” I answered flatly.

The box itself was very lightweight, even though it was obviously made of wood. There was no immediately apparent way to open it, but after a bit of fiddling, I discovered the top slid off sideways like that of a puzzle box.

Within, lying on a bed of red satin, were two long hair sticks, very similar to the ones I had given Josephine for Satinalia. They were black lacquered wood like the box, with tiny roses painted in red and green all along their lengths, the thorns glittering with specks of gold leaf. On the ends, where the filigree butterflies had been on Josephine’s pair, were clusters of delicately-crafted red satin roses, black onyx beads at their centers, around which were sewn tiny clear crystals for added sparkle.

“Oh, those are very pretty!” Lea said, bending closer to inspect them.

“They are,” I agreed, unsure of whether or not I deserved such a lovely gift.

_Twist and pull…_

Brow furrowing, I noticed a horizontal band of gold about halfway down each pin. Hesitating, I gingerly took one of them in hand and carefully twisted either end in opposite directions. Sure enough, the gold marked a nearly invisible seam, and I felt a distinct _click_ after only a moment of turning. Then, carefully, I pulled the ends apart…

…and the decorative end released from the other, shining silver trailing from the golden seam as I continued drawing the pieces apart. They revealed a slender, almost needle-like blade that had been sheathed in the other half of the pin, and I felt my brows arch high at the sight.

Stiletto daggers. The hair sticks were also functional stilettos.

Orlesian indeed.

“Oh my!” Lea remarked, putting her hand over her mouth in surprise. “How very clever!”

“Yes,” I said with a nod of agreement, carefully sliding the knife back into its sheath and replacing the pin back into its box.

The items themselves weren’t the only things that were clever and Orlesian. So was the unspoken message that had been sent with them, and it was one that was not lost on me. Lady Guillerose had sent me a hidden means of defending myself, perhaps to make up for her failure to keep me safe at the estate.

“Well,” I said at length, sighing a bit as I set the small box aside and gestured to the larger ones Lea had piled beside me. “Let’s see what else she sent, then.”

And thus we began slowly going through what the guildmistress had her people craft for me, which was, apparently, _a lot_.

In one box were all the underthings: five sets of absolutely _everything_ Josie had asked for and then some, all distinctly Orlesian in both material and style, which meant Lea couldn’t stop laughing at them. Among the articles were what looked like longline bras or basques (probably with boning instead of wire for support) that extended downwards to the waistline and were made of embroidered satin trimmed in lace. Even the straps were trimmed in lace, and where they connected to the cups they sported tiny bows. To match, there were high-waisted, long-legged panties that extended partway down the thigh, excessively frilly, as well as shorter, more _normal_ looking ones akin to hipsters in style. Simpler bandeaus were also there, likely for more practical purposes, although they were still made of satin and lace. There were also full slips, half-slips, and camisoles in varying cuts. Everything came in a stark white, a darker cream, an ebon black, a sultry crimson, and a rich blue version to suit every possible occasion or mood.

The next box held accessories such as stockings and garters of various similar colors, as well as gloves and shoes. There were five pairs of the former – one short, cream silk set with lace cuffs, one slightly longer tan kidskin set, one longer, more gauntlet-like set of sturdier brown leather, and a set of elbow-length ones in solid navy blue satin. As for the latter, Lady Guillerose had included a pair of cute black pumps very similar to her own, the heel no higher than an inch; a pair of tan doeskin boots, knee high, flat-soled, with the cut at the knee very similar to Vivienne’s favored footwear; a pair of calf-high brown boots much like the ones I already had, but with lacing up the front; a pair of jade green satin slippers with decorative gold beads sewn on the toes; and another pair of pumps, this time that same navy blue as the elbow-length gloves and also covered in satin.

Lady Guillerose had an abundance of satin, it seemed.

Next were the actual outfits themselves, which I was both eager and somewhat anxious to see. The first almost looked like a riding outfit in style (though obviously not in purpose). It consisted of a short-waisted, high-collared cream wool jacket with pointed shoulders and cuffed sleeves, embellished with tan leather accents, a single row of champagne buttons, and lined with champagne satin. A paler off-white silk cravat, embroidered with matching champagne thread, as well as a similarly off-white, long-sleeved silk shirt, was to be worn underneath. A detachable cream train, itself lined with champagne satin on the inside, accompanied the jacket and was long enough to make it look like a cross between a coat and a dress. The off-white breeches that were folded beneath the jacket looked to be very nearly like tights, almost like those Vivienne wore, and I assumed the tan boots were intended to go with them. Below this first set had been folded another matching jacket and train, but this time in pale rose instead of cream, also lined in champagne satin.

The second outfit was a gorgeous jade green silk gown, cut so that the off-the-shoulder neckline went straight across just underneath my collarbones – enough to make my neck and shoulders bare, but not enough to show anything else but my clavicles. The back of the neckline dipped only slightly lower, probably enough to show my shoulder-blades, draping more loosely than the front. It was long-sleeved with finger loops, making it look quite princess-like in design, and the skirt was a loose single layer in a slight trumpet cut. The bodice and skirt were both of the same color and relatively plain material, though there was a thicker V-shaped gold brocade panel on the front of the bodice (strictly for decorative purposes, as far as I could tell). A matching plain, gold silk belt adorned the waistline. All in all, it was suitable for more elegant noble gatherings but not quite fancy enough for eveningwear.

The third outfit, however, was most certainly for eveningwear, and its design shocked me a little. It was a navy blue gown, with a halter-necked bodice of velvet and an A-line skirt of silk. The shoulders and arms were completely bare, and the back plunged rather low – I recalled mentioning to Lady Guillerose that I didn’t like low necklines, but I hadn’t said anything at all about the back, and this was painfully evident…

At least now I knew which outfit the elbow-length gloves went with, though.

The dress itself was embellished with silver almost everywhere, an embossed medallion set with a single sapphire sitting just below the neck to serve as an attachment point for strings of glittering silver beads that draped over the upper arms and crossed in the back. There were more of these beads hanging over the fancifully-embroidered midsection of the bodice, and at the waistline was sewn a silver “belt,” though it couldn’t be detached from the dress itself.

The next outfit, however, was much simpler than the previous one, much to my delight. It consisted of a loose silk shirt and breeches, both a plain russet in color, overtop which was a rich brown leather vest with asymmetrical embroidered panels in gold that “wrapped” around the torso from my right shoulder to my left hip. There were hanging tunic-like tails of leather in the front and back, the back one broad and straight while the front tapered to a point. Both the vest and the shirt had simple gold buttons, and I assumed from the similar leather style that the gauntlet-like gloves and laced boots went with this particular ensemble.

The fourth outfit was another dress, but not as fancy as the other two, even if it _was_ made just as luxuriously. It consisted of a black silk brocade overdress embroidered in gold, with elbow-length sleeves that ended in small ruffles, very much like some Orlesian dresses I’d seen. It laced in the front across the abdomen, almost medieval-style, overtop a plain gold satin underdress with a square neckline and cap sleeves. There were no decorations on this bottom piece so as not to detract from the more ornately patterned overdress. A simple gold beaded belt then cinched it at the waist.

And then, the final two outfits were… well… not really outfits at all. They were two thin-strapped silk nightdresses with deep V-necks, and they were the closest things to modern lingerie I’d seen in Thedas thus far. One was knee length and white, the other ankle-length and burgundy with a slit up to the thigh. The white one had a solid matching long-sleeved robe to wear over the top, while the burgundy one had a sheer short-sleeved robe trimmed in lace.

I wasn’t even wearing them and I was already blushing. I had a feeling Guillerose had just thrown those in there with a “why not” attitude, as they were completely conflicting with what I had told her I was comfortable with. Or perhaps Leliana or Josephine was to blame for them. Either way, I wasn’t sure I would be able to work up the courage to wear them at all, and I quickly shoved them away for Lea to deal with, much to her amusement.

Finally, we got to the last box, which held the Halamshiral uniform and all its accoutrements, including the boots and gloves. It was exactly what I had imagined it should be and _more_ – rich black velveteen, crimson satin, white silk, supple ebon leather, and brilliant silver decorations on everything. This, perhaps, was the outfit with which I was most pleased – especially considering I had had a hand in its crafting. It was also probably the only one I would be completely fine wearing…

“So, which one are you going to try on?” Lea asked after setting the uniform aside, looking rather like an excited child as her large green eyes flicked from one piece to the other where they were spread out atop my bed.

My brows rose. “You think I should?”

She put her hands on her hips, her tone admonishing. “Well, of course! They were made for you to wear, so wear them!”

That was… a good point, actually. And yet, for some reason, I didn’t want to seem overeager.

“Hmm…” I put a finger over my lips as I tried to pick one from the many options. But even after eliminating the most obvious possibilities that were certainly not appropriate for daywear at the castle, I couldn’t decide on which one to try. “You pick, then,” I ultimately suggested, shrugging as I backed away to let her choose what she liked best. I trusted her judgment. She had spent a great amount of time dressing her widowed former mistress, after all.

Lea’s brow then furrowed deeply as she considered long and hard, apparently taking her decision very seriously. Finally, though, she picked up the black brocade dress with slender fingers and held it out to me. “This one!”

I took a breath, brows lifted. “Are you sure?”

“Positive!” she replied with a widening grin. “You’ll stun their stockings off in this! Everyone’s inside again today because of the snow, so they’ll all get to see.”

I gulped. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing, in my opinion. “Okay…”

It took me longer to get out of my uniform than it did to don the new clothes. With Lea’s back turned for privacy’s sake, I chose the black set of satin and lacy underthings to put on, complete with black stockings, which were surprisingly warm considering their thin and sheer material. It made me wonder what exactly they were made of…

As I straightened the odd longline bra, I chanced to glance at myself in the mirror that stood in the corner, and I froze. I hardly recognized my own reflection. Firstly, I’d never really worn lingerie quite like this, so that in and of itself was a bit of a shocker. Secondly, my body had most definitely transformed since I’d dropped into Thedas. Between the changes in lifestyle and the consistent training I’d undergone, I was actually developing more defined muscles in my arms, shoulders, back, and legs. It wasn’t a dramatic difference, mind you, but it _was_ noticeable. I was much less soft and much more toned.

And I couldn’t say I didn’t like it.

Shaking my head to refocus, I quickly slipped the soft satin underdress over my head. It wasn’t that form-fitting, so it was easy to get on, and it made little shimmering gold puddles atop my bare feet. The square neckline was not high, but neither was it too low – no ounce of cleavage was visible. Still, it left a lot of my skinny neck exposed, as well as my collarbones and a good portion of my upper chest. It made me feel slightly vulnerable.

Lea then turned around to help me with the overdress, making sure it was straight and assisting in tying it securely closed in the front. The cinching of the ribbons there made the underdress crinkle a little beneath, allowing the softer fabric to shimmer more in the light. Once everything was properly in place, Lea held me steady while I slipped into the plain black pumps, and it was all done.

“Oh, that is lovely!” she said at last, gesturing towards the mirror for me to see myself.

I turned back around, fighting a smile that wanted so desperately to pull across my face. Because as much as it made me feel vulnerable, it also made me feel like a real lady. A princess, almost. I certainly _looked_ like a real lady, bare forearms and hands and neck devoid of jewels notwithstanding.

“What about my hair, though?” I asked after a moment, wondering if I should change from my newest style. Though what I would change it _to_ , I wasn’t sure.

Lea shook her head. “Just leave it like it is. The focus should be on your dress, and anything fancier with your hair will distract from that.”

I nodded in understanding. She had a good point. Plus, having the hair in the back down helped with the giraffe problem I had.

I’d already put on my usual winter dark makeup, so, since the hairstyle matter was already decided, I was technically ready to leave my room. It was just a matter of garnering the nerve to do so…

“Go on,” Lea encouraged, waving her hands in a shooing gesture. “You look beautiful, Tamsyn. Go show off a bit with the others. I’ll stay here and arrange everything in your wardrobe for you while you’re gone.”

“All right,” I said, taking a deep breath and then forcing myself to walk for the door before my nerves failed me. My heels clicked rather loudly on the floor with each step, and I tried walking slower to muffle it.

“No, don’t do that,” Lea scolded sharply, making me glance back over my shoulder with a puzzled look. “Don’t be careful,” she elaborated, hands on her hips again. “Be confident. You are a Prophetess, remember?”

She gave me a broad smile, then, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

\------------------------------------------------------

When finally I emerged into the main hall from the Inquisitor’s tower, peeking around a curious guardsman, I made a quick beeline for the first door to the War Room and skirted inside. Despite what Lea had told me, I didn’t want to linger out in the open too long. Attention, especially that drawn by fashion, could be either a good or a bad thing depending on the motives of the person in question, and there were some nobles in that hall that could definitely employ the unwanted kind. I also had no desire to stop and chat with those vultures about anything at all, and the less time I gave anyone to engage me, the less chances there were of me being dragged into some asinine debate I had neither the energy nor the interest level to listen to.

Quickly closing that first door behind me and uttering a relieved sigh, I took another deep breath before approaching the second closed door to Josephine’s office proper. But it was then I heard voices arguing beyond, and I paused as I rested my fingers on the handle, wondering if I should enter after all.

“…I’m going to rip it at the seams.”

“Then don’t test it,” came Josephine’s flat tone in response to what was most certainly Cullen’s complaint.

“But I can’t even lift my arms above my head without it catching!” he protested.

“Unless you’re dancing the Remigold, Commander, you won’t need to lift your arms that high,” I heard Leliana reply coolly.

Brow furrowing, I slowly opened the door and peeked through the crack to see just what they were talking about.

And there Cullen stood in the middle of the floor before Josie’s desk, fully garbed in the Halamshiral uniform.

My jaw hit the floor.

It was a fact that he already wore the vanilla red one better than anyone else in the Inquisition did. But the black one…

The void-black velveteen offered a stunning sheen in the firelight of Josie’s hearth, and the supple matching black leather of the breeches, thigh-high boots, and gauntlets allowed the Commander to cut a magnificently sharp figure. The slash of crimson from the shoulder sash was _just_ the right touch of color to draw the eye across his body, and the one bound around his midsection shortened his waist and accentuated the triangular shape of his torso.

_Maker above…_

He may not have had a single drop of royal blood in his veins, but he looked every inch a prince – like he had walked right out of the pages of a fairytale and stepped into Skyhold, ready to meet his princess.

He was already gorgeous. Let’s face it, he could have been fresh out of bed with a mop of hair and wrinkled clothes and still be gorgeous. But the way he looked in that moment, standing in Josie’s office, a sleek black silhouette illuminated by firelight…

He was so beautiful it almost physically _hurt_ to behold.

_If you feel this way now, how will you feel at Halamshiral?_

“I am not dancing at all,” Cullen remarked disgustedly, still unaware I was watching behind him. “And I’m telling you, it’s still too tight.”

“It is _not_ too tight,” Josephine insisted. Then, glancing past him to me with a wry smile tugging at her lips, she added mischievously, “Is it, Tamsyn?”

Cullen whirled, the silver piping and buttons of the uniform sparkling, and he got to glimpse me standing there in the doorway with my mouth hanging open like an idiot. I immediately clamped my jaws shut, thankful I had managed to do so before I started drooling but also somewhat annoyed at Josephine for exposing me like that.

But then he seemed to mirror my expression, because his brows lifted high and his amber eyes widened a little as they briefly swept me from head to toe. He froze in place like a statue, and for a painfully long moment, nothing but awkward silence came from either one of us.

“ _Ahem_ ,” Leliana prompted, a wicked smile pulling at the corner of her mouth as she broke me out of my reverie.

“ _Noit’snottootight_!” I squeaked, my voice about two octaves higher than normal and the words rushing forth with the speed of an auctioneer’s hawking.

“So you see,” Josephine replied, blessedly drawing Cullen’s attention back to her. “It is fine. I will not be sending it back for alterations. It is unnecessary, and we simply haven’t the time.”

Cullen huffed indignantly. “ _Fine_. But if it tears during the course of the night, I won’t be blamed.”

He then spun on his heel and marched out of the office, brushing past me with a soft, “Excuse me, Tamsyn.”

He was past the first door and into the main hall before anyone spoke again.

“Judging from your expression, I gather you like the result of your idea, Tamsyn?” Leliana asked at length, arms crossed.

I swallowed, trying desperately to banish the lingering vision from my head as I fully entered Josie’s office. “It’s very nice,” I said casually. “I was just surprised to see anyone wearing it so soon.”

“So surprised you gave him a once-over?” the Nightingale replied with one brow lifted.

I felt my cheeks and chest burn with an intense heat at her charge, but before I could say anything, Josephine added with a smile, “Don’t feel ashamed of it. I am sure you aren’t the only one eyeing him right now. He _does_ look stunning, I’ll admit. As much as he complains about the fit of the jacket, anything looser would not do his figure justice.” Her hazel gaze sparkled. “And I am certain you agree.”

“You weren’t the only one impressed by Lady Guillerose’s handiwork either,” Leliana continued, her mischievous smile widening. “It seems the Commander was rather enchanted by your new dress, if his frozen stare was any indication.”

_I knew I shouldn’t have worn this… I knew it…_

“And you do look lovely,” Josephine remarked kindly. “I daresay the gold suits your complexion and your hair color rather well.”

“Um… thanks,” I managed to reply at last, unable to offer anything more but a sheepish grin. “Lea suggested I wear it today.”

“She has good taste,” Leliana observed. “Do you like the fit? Is everything Ysabelle sent to your satisfaction?”

I nodded emphatically. “It’s beautiful. All of it. I’m not sure if I’ll find the right occasions to wear everything, but they are very pretty.”

Somehow, that seemed like an incredibly lame response, but I was having extraordinary difficulty forming anything coherent. It was as if recent events had rendered me completely stupid.

“I am sure I can think of plenty suitable occasions,” Josephine answered with a knowing look. “As a matter of fact, what you are wearing now would be quite appropriate for dancing, should the need arise.”

“Yes,” Leliana agreed. “It certainly would.”

“But listen to us prattle on,” Josephine said, leaning forward with her elbows on her desk. “You must have come here for a reason. Is there anything you require?”

I blinked. Why _had_ I come here, anyway? Perhaps I had thought to discuss the attire Lady Guillerose had sent in greater depth, but my brain seemed to have been wiped clean of any thoughts I might have gathered before arriving at the office. And then Josephine and Leliana’s subsequent teasing had succeeded in eliminating the desire to linger for fear they would keep it up.

I needed to go.

“Oh, no,” I said with a small smile, stepping back. “I just wanted to show you that yes, I’m wearing something other than my uniform for once.” I laughed, though it wasn’t mirthful, and was instead intended to cover the anxiety that yet fluttered lightly in my stomach. “But I guess should… um… go back to my room and write a thank you letter to Lady Guillerose, now. She wanted to know if I liked her designs after all. And there’s some other paperwork I should catch up on, too.”

“A sound idea,” Josephine replied with a nod of understanding.

Finally seeing my way out of this uncomfortable situation I had found myself in, I retreated, bidding them both a polite good day before spinning around and quickly striding into the main hall, cutting a hard left, and disappearing behind the Inquisitor’s tower door. I didn’t stop until I was safely behind my chamber door and in the comforting solitude of my room, from which Lea had thankfully already departed for her duties elsewhere in the castle.

To my credit, I did sit down at my desk to write, but despite my sincere intentions of putting my appreciation for Lady Guillerose’s efforts to words, that was not what my heart wished to write about. Nor was it the pending replies to the other Orlesian nobles, whose letters still awaited an answer on the corner of the desk.

No, after I had calmed myself from my humiliating response to witnessing Cullen in uniform and the playful ribbing from Josie and Leliana, I found I wanted to do something else entirely. Something that I hadn’t done in ages.

I wanted to write poetry.

I was far more accustomed to writing articles, something with which I hadn’t been able to engage since arriving in Thedas. I really was a researcher at heart – it was what had led me to major in English and minor in History in college. The more creative arts of story writing and poetry weren’t endeavors that I excelled at in my classes. Indeed, I always dreaded the act of writing poetry, especially when trying to imitate certain styles. However, I had a particular love for Shakespeare, and it was his sonnets that were nagging in the back of my mind for some reason. I had the sudden silly and impulsive desire to write one of my own, and the inspiration for it was still dancing across my vision, branded on the inside of my eyelids as though I had looked directly at the sun.

After but a moment of contemplation, I picked up my quill and dipped it into the ink, moving slowly, as if in the midst of a dream. Cullen consumed my thoughts, and I gladly let him. He was my muse. He demanded tribute. And such demands could not be ignored.

My pen moved across the parchment beneath my hand, the ink carrying the words that bled from my soul:

_Alas, unknowing owner of my heart,_

_My love for thee, my tongue cannot express…_

\------------------------------------------------------

“We need to get into that auction and get that scroll. We can’t wait for the Inquisitor to get back to decide this.”

The following day, approaching noon, Leliana, Josephine, and I walked together towards the keep’s undercroft, discussing developing events along the way. I had decided to wear the russet outfit instead of the dress this time, and I felt far better about it, as it wasn’t likely it would result in any teasing. It was also far more practical for climbing and descending stairs, the latter of which was exactly what we were currently doing.

I was empty-handed, but both of my fellow advisors held stacks of parchment – reports and other notes regarding current issues. Josephine scribbled reminders on her tablet as she went, keeping one eye ahead of her while nodding her understanding, and her candle cast her elongated shadow on the nearby wall in between torches.

“Of course. It will be simple enough to exaggerate the importance of the other items there. We will be able to obtain the scroll with ease, once that’s done,” the Ambassador replied, her quill scratching on the parchment.

Down the spiraling stairs we went, down and farther down into the mountain beneath the fortress. As light as they were, our footsteps still echoed, the sound bouncing sharply against the stone walls that were uncomfortably close. I had only been down this way once before, when I had refreshed my quiver of arrows after the disaster at Haven, and I hadn’t thought I would return very often. But we had just received word of Arcanist Dagna’s arrival, and we had scheduled to meet her in the undercroft as soon as possible.

On top of that, we also found out that the dragon parts from the Fereldan Frostback had made it back to be refined into crafting materials. Cullen had managed to get schematics from the famous Fereldan armorsmith, Wade. According to Leliana, Harritt had already spent quite a bit of time studying them and was eager to present the Inquisitor with his ideas. But that would have to wait until Maxwell returned from the Emerald Graves…

At last we reached the undercroft proper, Leliana opening the door to reveal the cavernous maw of the forge room and the roaring waterfall beyond. Harritt was busy hammering away at a blade, offering only a small nod of acknowledgment as we passed him by. Continuing on into the crafting area, we headed for the young dwarven woman bent over a strangely-built low table made of what looked to be blackened iron.

“Arcanist Dagna?” Josephine asked tentatively as she approached.

Upon hearing the Ambassador’s voice, Dagna sprang away from her table in surprise. “Oh, hello!” she greeted us cheerily, grinning broadly as she quickly set aside her tools with a dull _thunk_. “Sorry! I hope you don’t mind me being down here already, but I wanted to go ahead and get acquainted with the space.” She jerked her thumb at Harritt. “Your smith has already introduced himself, and I’m very eager to work with him. I can tell he’s a master of his craft. There’s no telling what we’ll be able to create together.”

The dwarf’s attention then focused on Leliana, who stood to my right, and her eyes widened in realization. “Hey, I remember you! You’re Leliana, right? You were with the Hero of Ferelden in Orzammar about ten years ago.” She abruptly stuck out her hand for the Spymistress to shake, and Leliana took it with a small smile and a nod.

“Yes, I am, and I was,” she replied as she let go. “Though some also call me Sister Nightingale.”

Dagna’s eyes widened even more. “Wait, that’s you? Wow, we were talking the whole time and I didn’t even know it! No wonder you’re the Inquisition’s Spymaster, right?” She added with a giggle.

Before anyone could add anything else, she had already refocused on Josie. “Oh, and you must be Ambassador Josephine!” She thrust her hand out again. “I swear by the Ancestors, you have the prettiest handwriting I’ve ever seen,” she said, shaking Josephine’s hand vigorously. “You’d make the Shapers envious, and that’s _really_ hard to do.”

Josephine looked rather surprised as she was finally able to release the Arcanist’s hand. “Well, I am certainly flattered, Mistress Dagna.”

“Oh, just Dagna’s fine!” she said, waving away the formality as she then turned her attention to me. Pausing, she cocked her head and her eyes squinted. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure who you are…?”

“Tamsyn,” I said with a smile. “Tamsyn Ashworth. It’s a pleasure to mee-”

Her mouth formed an _O_. “Ohhhhhh you’re _her_! You’re the Prophetess!” she exclaimed, taking my hand in _both_ of her own and shaking it up and down with surprising force. “It’s _such_ an honor to meet you, my lady!”

“The honor is mine, I’m sure, Dagna,” I replied as I _tried_ to shake her hand back, but couldn’t match her speed.

“You’re too kind,” she replied with a slight laugh as she let go of me. “Really. I mean, _really_. Having knowledge of various crafts and magical phenomena is one thing, but having knowledge of the future? That’s… really out there!” she said, gesturing with arms outstretched. “I’d _really_ like to talk about what you know and how you know it. If you _do_ know how you know, that is. If you know what I mean.”

Josephine cleared her throat.

“I actually wanted to speak with you more about that in private when you have a moment, Dagna,” Leliana replied. “There are some things regarding Tamsyn here that are for your ears only, and I must implore you to keep them secret.”

Dagna nodded emphatically. “Oh, of course! Your secrets are always safe with me.”  She paused, obviously thinking. “Well, unless someone does blood magic and forces me to confess or something. But that’s not likely to happen. Maybe one in a million with me here. Or perhaps it’s closer to one in one hundred thousand…”

“But in addition to that, we’d also like to arrange a method for you to begin runecrafting for the Inquisitor,” Leliana continued, effectively bringing the easily-distracted inventor back on track.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Dagna reassured her, gesturing at her equipment. “I have that all covered. I brought all of my apparatuses with me, so there’s nothing to arrange but the gathering of materials.” She then peered around us at a stack of crates in one corner. “Speaking of which, I hear you have dragon parts around here somewhere. If you happen to have had some vials of blood shipped with the scales and bones, I can begin work right away.”

Josephine’s brow rose. “And what kind of runes will you be making with the blood?”

“Demon-slaying runes, of course,” the Arcanist answered, as if it were obvious. “Dragon blood has a fascinating opposition to demon essences. It cuts through them like acid. Or maybe it’s more like a knife through butter. Anyway, if I give your Inquisitor’s weapons these runes, he’ll find he can slice through demons a lot easier. I mean, _a lot._ Definitely something immediately useful, right?”

“I see,” Josephine said, sharing glances with Leliana and I. “Can we procure anything else that would be of use to you?”

Dagna’s nose wrinkled as she shook her head. “Not easily. A lot of the more powerful runes you want available for your people can only be made with materials gathered in the field. Wyvern poison glands, demon essences, corpse hearts, that sort of thing. I mean, unless you want to go black market. Which is fine with me, I’m totally not judging…”

“We will look into it,” Josephine replied with an affirmative nod in Leliana’s direction. “In the meantime, I wish to give you a warm welcome to Skyhold. Do let me know if there is anything else we can do to make your work easier.”

“Oh, of course!” Dagna said with a nod. “And really, don’t worry about me. I can do a lot with a little.” She grinned broadly again. “If you need anything specific, give me a holler!”

And with that, we bade the Arcanist good day and began making our way back to the main hall. After the undercroft door closed behind us, Josephine said quietly, “Well, Dagna is rather enthusiastic, is she not?”

“She seems happy to be working with us,” Leliana replied as she began climbing the stairs ahead of us. “I am glad she is here. We could certainly put her expertise to good use.” After a moment, she added, “At the very least, we know she is safe here, and she cannot be captured and forced to work with Corypheus.”

“She’s an asset for sure,” I said as I followed in the Nightingale’s wake. “She’ll do great things.”

We continued on towards the main hall, climbing ever upwards, and we were halfway there before Josephine broke the silence again.

“So, Tamsyn… You might find your evenings a bit busier as of late.”

“Oh?” I said, glancing back over my shoulder at the Ambassador.

“Yes,” she affirmed. “I took the liberty of arranging dancing lessons with Dorian. He will be awaiting your presence near the vicinity of the vault this evening.”

I stopped in my tracks, my eyes widening and my stomach rolling at what I had just heard. I could have sworn I heard Leliana chuckling ahead of me.

“Wait, _what?_ You can’t be serious…”

“Oh, Tamsyn,” the Nightingale said, shaking her head in amusement, “I am afraid she is _very_ serious.”

Josephine sighed heavily, waving at me to keep going as she explained, “You and Cullen are the only ones among our elite who have no knowledge of how to dance at such affairs. The Commander, unfortunately, refuses to participate, but it is something that can easily be worked around. His duties at the ball require his full attention, of course, and he legitimately has no time for dancing. You, however, will most certainly garner the interest of a great many, and if someone were to ask you for a dance, I do not think it would be wise of you to refuse.”

“Besides,” the Spymistress added, “It would also put you in a unique position to help us. As the Inquisition’s Prophet, you can garner the trust of many of the weaker-willed nobles scrambling to know their fortunes. Get them alone on the dance floor, and you have the opportunity to discover information we could use to our advantage. If you think they will be useful, as either an ally or an unknowing informant, tell them whatever you have to in order to find out more.”

I swallowed heavily. “So I don’t get to refuse?”

“I’m afraid not,” Josephine said. “We cannot ignore the advantage this could give us. Besides, I’ve already made arrangements with Dorian to teach you. Your lessons start today and will be conducted every evening after supper until the day we depart for the Winter Palace.”

 _Great_ , I thought bitterly as we reached the door to the main hall. _Just great._

\------------------------------------------------------

“Now again. Head up… and, one-two, three-four, five-six, seven-eight…”

Dorian was practically shoving me around the empty foyer between the vault and the kitchens. Well, it _felt_ like he was shoving me. In reality, he was dancing like he should have been, but I was stumbling around like a newborn calf. So badly, in fact, that I managed to trip over the toes of his boots for the fifth time in an hour.

His eyes closed, and he stopped abruptly, making me stumble again. His firm grip on my one hand tightened ever so slightly as he hissed in a breath in pain. “Tamsyn, I swear by the Maker, if you step on my toe one more time I will…” his eyes popped open again as mine went wide, and he held his pent-up breath for several seconds before he finished, “be _very disappointed_ in you.”

I sighed, feeling like I was wilting and almost ready to cry in frustration. “I’m trying, Dorian. I really am.”

He huffed. “I know you are, but it’s not hard enough.”

“Ughhhh,” I released my hold on him and spun around, running my hands through my hair as I walked away a few paces. “This is _ridiculous_.”

“And now you sound like Cullen,” Dorian replied, crossing his arms. Then, he snapped his fingers sharply, brows arching high. “Oh, there’s a thought! Pretend I’m the Commander, only more handsome and without that hideous fur rug on his shoulders. You wouldn’t dare step on _his_ toes, would you?”

I glared as I moved around a pillar to a stone bench along the wall and wearily sat down.

He grinned and shook his head. “ _Tsk, tsk_. Still pretending there isn’t anything there?” He then strode towards me and moved to sit next to me on the bench. “How terribly predictable of you.”

“Still prodding me for your own amusement?” I quipped, probably more harshly than I should have. “How terribly predictable of _you_.”

My eyes fixed on the stone floor ahead, and Dorian was silent for a few moments. Then, clapping a hand on my shoulder, he added, “All right. It’s obvious you need a break from all this practice, so let’s rest and talk, shall we?”

“About?”

He chuckled, leaning his elbows forward on his knees. “This insufferable insistence on your part that there is absolutely nothing between you and Cullen, of course.”

“ _Dorian_ ,” I said in a warning tone, meeting his eyes. “There isn’t. There is nothing there.”

_There can’t be and there doesn’t need to be…_

“No?” he replied skeptically. “Then why is it that every time I see you walking away from him, you’re flushing like you’ve run for miles and he can’t keep his eyes off your arse?”

_What?!_

_Cullen was looking at my ass? And Dorian saw it?_

“Look,” I began, desperately trying to recover. “I wear tight leather pants, and he’s a man. I’m not surprised.”

Dorian’s grey eyes narrowed and stared daggers through me. Despite how much I wanted to, I couldn’t keep up the façade under that knowing gaze.

Sighing, I threw my hands in the air, letting them fall atop my thighs with an audible _smack_. “All right. So I find him attractive, so what?”

His brow furrowed deeply. “So, you don’t think you can pursue that attraction further?”

“No,” I said flatly.

Dorian wiped a hand down his face and groaned. “And why, precisely, is that? Let me guess,” he crossed his arms again. “He’s too professional, he’s also your colleague, and you’re from another world entirely. Oh, and you also think you’re not good enough for him – he’s handsome enough to have any woman he wants, and that can’t possibly be you.”

“No, it can’t,” I agreed, returning my attention to the floor.

He chuckled again, but this time he sounded much less amused. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. But you see, you haven’t thought this through enough for persistence alone to win this argument. Because with any scrutiny, your defenses wither away into dust.” He said. When I looked at him with a furrowed brow, he continued, “You don’t believe me? Then watch me take them down. One. By. One.”

He glanced around to make sure no errant patrol would pass through and hear anything, then lowered his voice to barely above a whisper and leaned closer.

“Firstly, just to get this one out of the way, you can’t possibly tell me a relationship between you would be in violation of the future you so desperately want us to have, because if it was, you would be avoiding him like the plague and not visiting his tower alone at night.”

My eyes widened at that. Dorian had seen me go to Cullen’s office that night? Well, _of course_ he had. His library window had a bird’s eye view of the Commander’s tower and the surrounding battlements. He might have seen the torchlight glint off of my breastplate out of the corner of his eye and had looked closer to try and find the source.

“Second and third is related to the first,” he added. “Both his professionalism and his status as a fellow colleague hasn’t stopped you from spending leisure time together on several occasions, and, I reiterate, visiting each other after hours.”

I sighed heavily. “He spends time with all of us, you know.”

“And yet only one of us has had the privilege of seeing him shirtless in bed,” Dorian retorted.

I blinked, stunned. How did he know about that? He wasn’t even _in_ Haven when that had happened. Who had talked? Jim? Leliana?

“Fourth, forgive me if I haven’t noticed anything to the contrary, but your being from another world hasn’t been a barrier at all, because there has been no difference in your relations than with anyone else in Thedas,” the Altus went on. “If anything, it’s been reason for _increased_ interaction, for obvious reasons. Fifth, yes, I do agree he is good-looking enough to have anyone he wants, even if he isn’t as handsome as I am,” he remarked with a wink. “But despite the fact that you do often wear leather pants and he _is_ a man, yours is the only arse I’ve seen his leonine eyes settle on since I arrived here. It should feel privileged.”

I actually had to fight to keep from snickering at that.

“Which leaves one thing, yes?” he said. “One thing remaining that is true as an arrow. You don’t think you’re good enough.” He paused. “And if you’ll forgive me for my hubris, I’m willing to wager I can break that one down, too.”

I swallowed, glancing away again, as I felt I was crumbling under the weight of his gaze. Dorian, just like Bull, had an uncanny way of reading me. It made me feel very exposed and almost ashamed of myself.

He returned his hand to my shoulder, and its weight was much more comforting, then. “You see, you think he doesn’t have the same attraction to you as you do to him. But that’s plainly false,” he said, and as I garnered the courage to look at him, there was nothing but sincerity writ on his face. “Your self-doubt is blinding you, Tamsyn. Forget what I said about your arse for a moment,” he continued, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Even if I hadn’t noticed that little glance the other day, I would still say the same. You weren’t here when he got the news about the attack in Val Royeaux. But I was. And so was Maxwell. I was present when he received the news straight from the Inquisitor. There was anger behind his eyes, but there was also fear. The man was scared out of his wits until he knew for certain you were alive.

“Now before you go telling me he naturally would be because of what you are to the Inquisition, let me add this,” he said. “We played a chess game not long after that. Probably a way for him to get his mind off of it all, but naturally the man can’t go one hour without dwelling on some could-have-should-have moment. And do you know what he talked about?”

I shrugged and shook my head. Of course I didn’t know; I wasn’t there.

“ _You_ ,” Dorian replied, squeezing my shoulder tightly for emphasis. “He talked about your first two games together. How you were bloody terrible but that he was hoping he could coach you into doing better whenever you got back. He recalled the story you told him about your mother teaching you how to play. And then he started spilling the beans about how you took care of him in Haven, before I joined up. How you spent the night in his tent to make sure he was all right, and then how you were so afraid of him being angry at you when the soldiers started talking.”

I felt a lump in my throat, and my desire to cry returned. He really had talked to Dorian about those things? About me?

Dorian’s voice was soft. “You can’t say he doesn’t care. Because a man who didn’t care also wouldn’t have cared enough to remember all that about you.”

Doubt ate at me, nibbling at the edges of my heart. “Good friends care about each other, Dorian, and they remember details about each other.”

“ _Venhedis!_ ” he hissed out the Tevene curse, pushing away from me and glancing away as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. “It’s almost as if you don’t _want_ him to like you!”

“But-”

He leaned in again, his sharp grey gaze capturing mine. “If you keep avoiding him... if you don’t test those thin boundaries between you, you will _never_ know if you could have had more. Don’t do this and destroy something beautiful before it even starts. You will always regret it. And even if he does shy away from more than what you have now, that brief pain is better than a lifetime of uncertainty.”

The passion in his voice held me spellbound. He obviously felt very strongly about this. It came out in every word he said, and it was impossible to ignore. What was driving it? Personal experience?

“But if it’s any comfort to you,” he added, “I’ve yet to be wrong about these sorts of things. For obvious reasons,” he said with another wink as he tapped his temple with one finger. “Believe me, _you_ are the only obstacle I see, here, Tamsyn. The only way you can go wrong is by continuing to hold yourself back.”

I swallowed back the lump and the hot emotions in my eyes as I returned my attention to the flagstones underfoot. “But… what do you want me to do, Dorian? What _should_ I do?”

“ _Talk_ to the man,” Dorian replied. “Don’t hide in your room anymore like I know you’ve been doing. Spend time with him, when your schedules allow it. Your isolation only hurts you both, friendship or otherwise. Let whatever happens _happen_ , and don’t be afraid of all the what-ifs. Be brave, Tamsyn.”

 _Be confident_ , Lea’s words echoed in my mind.

“Okay,” I said, sighing heavily in acquiescence. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Dorian replied cheerfully. “I’m glad. But I think we’ve spent enough time on that, yes?” He stood. “You have other things to do, I’m sure, and we can talk more on the morrow when you’ve rested up. Do tell me how you find the _Imagina_ when we practice again, too. I know it’s a slog, but I _would_ like to discuss some of the finer points with you next time.”

He nodded to me once in farewell, and then finally made his way for the stairwell to return to his study nook.

Once he was gone, I put my head in my hands, still sitting there on that cold stone bench to try and gather my nerves and the will to move. It had surprised me how much Dorian knew about me, about my thoughts and about the goings-on between myself and Cullen. It shouldn’t have, though; he was from Tevinter, and from what I understood, it had a cutthroat society ten times worse than that of Orlais. He had to be observant just to survive in that world.

On top of that, I couldn’t be angry. Dorian appeared to have a genuine need to see his friends happy. And it seemed he did indeed consider me one, even with how little we had interacted. In fact, it almost felt as though he were protective of me on some level. It made me smile a little bit to think about it – he was a kind and good man with a talent for encouraging people to do the right thing. Tevinter needed more men like him so badly.

Sighing again, I stood at last and straightened, ready to return to the main hall and the rest of Skyhold.

I couldn’t let him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget, From the Beyond has its own Tumblr blog here! https://ftb-dafanfiction.tumblr.com/
> 
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	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for taking so long with this chapter! My muse was a little stubborn for a while, and real life work has been pretty hectic the past few weeks, so I haven't had much energy to devote to the story lately. I hope you enjoy! :)

I was surprised at how late it was when I returned to the main hall after Dorian’s practice. Only the few vigilant night guardsmen stood watch at each door; the civilian guests had long departed to their assigned quarters or other accommodations elsewhere in the depths of the castle. Breathing something of a quiet sigh of relief, I made my way back to the Inquisitor’s tower and wearily climbed the stairs to my room, eager for rest after the grueling dancing lessons I had just managed to stumble through, my legs boneless and heavy. Despite my increased muscle mass and improved font of stamina, I doubted my legs would appreciate all of that repetition in the morning…

And then, once I had a chance to sleep on what Dorian had told me, I felt _everything_ change inside. It was as though a switch had been flipped – like a heavy fog had lifted, and I could at last see with clarity.

I felt ashamed. I felt _embarrassed_. And I was so very angry at myself.

The next morning, my cheeks burned with humiliation as I suddenly and distinctly remembered what I promised myself I would do not long after I had arrived in this new world of mine. I had promised myself that if this whole thing was intended to be a second chance for me, then I would do things much differently this time around. I promised myself that I would learn from the mistakes I had made in my old world and that I wouldn’t repeat them.

And yet here I was, doing just that. Falling back into my old ways, just like I hadn’t made those promises at all.

Dorian had read me like a book and immediately understood what I was doing to myself, even if it was on an entirely subconscious level.

I secluded myself and held myself back from most intimate social situations because I was afraid of being emotionally hurt.

 _Well_ before Cullen, I had done the same thing back home, especially after all the experiences with failed almost-relationships. For me, at least, it was the easiest and most natural solution to the problem. But as a result, I was alone. And even though I certainly appreciated my solitude, it was also undeniably and terribly lonely during that time of my life. For the longest time, my poor cat Maddie had been my only comfort, and Abigail had become my only true friend.

If I wasn’t careful, I would find myself in the exact same shape I’d been on Earth.

I played it safe in the past, and it got me next to nothing. If I did so again, I would surely lose whatever it was I had with everyone now, because just as Dorian said, isolation hurt both sides of the equation, and not just with Cullen. I would be a fool to throw away such good friends as I knew the people of the Inquisition could be if I just put forth the simple effort to get to know them better and spent more time with them. Strengthened those tenuous bonds between us all.

Instead of waiting for them to interact with me, I needed to actively seek them out. If I considered the Inner Circle to be my friends, I needed to show it more. I needed to go out there and spend more time with everyone, even if it meant being turned down on the occasions when people were too busy. I needed to make time for them despite what I had to do for the Inquisition.

Even Cullen. Especially Cullen.

Because if what Dorian implied was true, and there was a chance he actually did feel…

…well, part of me didn’t want to accidentally jinx it by even thinking about it.

But in any case, I couldn’t let whatever it was slip through my fingers because of fear.

I _refused_ to let it.

Old Earth Tamsyn was gone. I had already told both myself and Cullen that a long time ago on the pier at Haven, but it was obvious I had yet to fully embrace such a philosophy in practice.

Now was the time. Actually, it was past time.

I knew in my heart that Dorian had given me a much-needed kick in the pants, and I absolutely adored him for it. And I’d tell him so later. If I was utterly truthful with myself, I had been pathetic the past week. And at times, even before that. No more.

_No more._

Like a phoenix, a new Tamsyn would rise from the ashes of the old that my Dorian-fueled humiliation, exasperation, and sheer willpower had burned away.

I rose early, just when the clear sky above the mountains had been tinted a soft pink with dawn’s growing light, a shaft of which peeked between the drawn curtains. Parting them in one swift movement, I shivered as my bare feet gripped cold stone, the floor hard and icy beneath me. I beheld the castle still swathed in shimmering sheets of white; despite the fact Skyhold was preternaturally warmer than its environs, the snow that had fallen days earlier was still quite slow to melt. The patrols had done their best to shovel most of it out of the walkways on the battlements, but it still blanketed the towers’ crowned parapets and much of the courtyards and gardens.

A day spent inside again, it seemed.

No matter, I had clothes for all occasions, including ones such as these. Taking a deep breath and clenching my fists in determination, I marched over to the wardrobe and opened its doors.

The choice was obvious, of course. I seized the black and gold dress ensemble I had only worn for a few hours before and swiftly donned it again, securing the laces myself as it would be a while yet until Lea arrived with breakfast. I combed my hair, styled it just so, applied the same wintry dark makeup I’d become rather practiced at, and then strode across the room to my desk. I then swept my skirts underneath me as I sat with purpose.

I had letters to write, after all.

Pressing my lips together and readying parchment and quill, I set to work answering the correspondence I should have answered a week ago. Channeling the same mindset I had used when writing the condolences letters, I began responding to the frivolous requests for fortunes from the Lady This and the Bann That and the Comte de Whatever. A plan had struck me in the middle of dressing, and I used that selfsame plan for every letter I replied to. The basic construction was simply one of enigmatic vagueness, offering just enough to satisfy, yet not enough to entrap either the Inquisition as a whole or myself between a rock and a hard place: the Maker had not yet granted me the privilege of knowing the asker’s future, but their support of and cooperation with the Inquisition would bring only good fortune to themselves and their families.

It was true, after all. If the Inquisition failed, no one would even _have_ a future about which to ask – something that almost everyone outside of the Inquisition itself seemed to have a hard time remembering.

Was it likely more fodder for rumors of fraudulence? Yes. Was there a chance I was wrong and ill-fortune would befall some of those who threw their hats in with the Inquisition? Unfortunately, also yes. But there was honestly nothing I could do about any of that. And, as Josephine had suggested at the war council meeting, silence was almost as bad as being wrong, as I was basically guilty until proven innocent in the eyes of most skeptics. At least this way I was telling the truth, and I wouldn’t have to remember any fabricated tales if any of my contacts managed to confront me face-to-face later on.

By the time Lea arrived with breakfast – a tray of buttered croissants and herbal tea – I had finished the final letter (my thanks to Lady Guillerose for her lovely designs), sealing it with plain wax and stacking it atop the rest for delivery at the rookery. Judging from her raised eyebrows when she walked in, Lea was doubly surprised to see me not only already up and about, but also completely dressed. If she was curious, she made no comment on it, however, instead quickly settling in to tell me all about the goings-on in the kitchens, the addition of new servants, other work on the castle, and things of that nature. She always updated me on the activities of the fortress behind-the-scenes during our morning talks, and I appreciated the knowledge about these daily undertakings. They were the seemingly mundane events that kept the castle going on a day-to-day basis so the rest of the Inquisition could see to other business, and they served as a much-needed reminder about all the other people who flew under the radar unnoticed. The “little people” as Sera would call them.

Once breakfast was finished, I let Lea take the letters to the rookery while I headed out to greet the rest of the Inner Circle, armored with both my new attire and my new attitude. I used both to tamp down the anxious jitters that threatened to wrack through me, attempting to channel some of Vivienne’s signature poise to forcefully push aside my nerves.

The first victim of my newfound enthusiasm? Why, Madame de Fer herself, of course.

The Iron Lady was almost always the first of the companions I saw after leaving the tower, as Varric and Dorian usually had already departed long before I managed to leave my chambers for the day. I noticed the Knight-Enchantress had made something of a habit of taking time to mingle with those guests who lingered in the hall, usually on her way to and from her balcony. Judging from her expressions and mannerisms as she spoke to these nobles, she knew some of them quite well already, likely from old soirees and other such events. With others, though, she appeared to be making new acquaintances. Interestingly, she hardly interacted with those guests from Antiva, Ferelden, or the Marches, instead preferring the obviously Orlesian nobles gathered together in their gossipy gaggles and garbed in their usual gaudy attire.

As I emerged into the main hall, the bright light from the windows almost blinding me, I found her standing near the stair to her balcony, immersed in discussion with one such Orlesian. To her credit, however, the lady in question sported a dress that was significantly less ostentatious than most – a gown of bronze silk, the ruffled skirt just reaching her booted ankles while the sleeves were long and poofy. All a single layer, astonishingly enough. The brown leather bodice was embroidered in gold vines, matching a similar leather half-mask and cocked hat.

Across from her, Vivienne wore a starkly-contrasting ice-blue robe, shimmering with silver embroidery and tiny clear crystals that twinkled in the light of the hall. Where the lady’s neckline was high, punctuated by a lace-trimmed, ruffled collar like so many were fond of, Madame de Fer’s décolletage plunged deeply, making her robe appear more like a boudoir garment than an article appropriate for public wear. Still, if anyone could pull off such a look with grace and dignity, it was most certainly Vivienne.

“…absolutely dreadful. I am so sorry to hear it.”

“As am I. I can only hope the Inquisitor puts this matter to rest, and soon.”

The heavily-accented lady fell silent, glancing my way as I approached, and Vivienne followed her gaze, one slender hand uplifted as if she held an invisible champagne glass. When the mage recognized me, her thin brows rose high for a moment, and she looked me up and down very briefly before she smiled in greeting.

“Ah, Tamsyn. It is good to see you,” she said warmly. “You look well, my dear.”

“Thank you,” I replied with a grateful dip of my head. “And so do you.”

Vivienne’s smile simply widened at that, and she gestured with her raised hand at her companion. “May I introduce you to my friend, Lady Linette of Val Firmin?” she glanced to the lady as she added, “Linette, this is Lady Tamsyn, one of the Inquisitor’s war advisors.”

No advertisement of my status as Prophetess, I noted.

“A pleasure,” Linette said, giving me a small curtsey. I was unsure of the appropriate response to her gesture, so I merely bowed a little at the waist in what I hoped was a sufficiently respectful move.

“Likewise,” I answered with a smile, which the lady mirrored almost precisely. “What brings you to Skyhold, Lady Linette?” I asked.

“I await an audience with Lady Josephine, of course,” Linette said. “I have been wondering if there is a way I might contribute to the cause in person. My own connections are not insignificant, and I have knowledge of a great many nobles whose actions as of late do not… let us say, _speak well_ of them.” She shared a look with Vivienne before she added, “I may not be of any significant rank in the Empress’s court – my husband is Comte Forault’s third youngest brother – but I have been to many a gathering. It is astonishing how much a simple party will reveal about one’s guests, if one simply opens one’s ears. I am sure you know what I mean, my lady.”

“Of course,” I said with a knowing nod, even though I really didn’t have much experience with that sort of thing at all. Still, it didn’t take a genius to understand what she meant. “We need all the assistance we can get. I’m sure Josephine would be glad to take you on as one of her diplomats.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Linette replied graciously. “I certainly hope she will. I simply cannot sit on my hands and watch the world burn like some of my countrymen.”

“Speaking of burning,” Vivienne interjected. “I hate to cut our conversation short, Linette, but I have a mixture brewing that I _must_ check on before it scalds. Our work is never done, you understand.”

“Oh, of course,” the lady curtseyed again, something of an apology in the swiftness of the gesture this time. “Please do not let me keep you from your duties. It was good to speak with you again, Madame de Fer. And it was an honor to meet you, Lady Tamsyn.”

Vivienne dipped her head politely. “And you, Linette.”

And with that, the lady swept away towards some of her fellow Orlesians on the other side of the hall while Vivienne gestured for me to follow her with one still perfectly-manicured hand. Curious about what she might want, I obeyed, and we both ascended the stair to her balcony with skirts in hand. I thought for a moment that Vivienne’s interruption was merely a convenient excuse to escape conversation, but as we approached the enchantress’s daytime haunt, I noticed a table was covered with alchemical equipment – none of it active enough to warrant taking it to the undercroft for safety purposes, but there were a few colorful tinctures on low-flame burners simmering away quietly, bottles and canisters of dried ingredients clustered nearby. I caught a whiff of something green and herbal, along with another something that was a bit smokier and almost floral, but the scent was quickly whisked away by the draft that swept through the open hall.

This was not, apparently, what she wanted _me_ to look at, however, as, after a brief inspection of the equipment, she seated herself on her settee and gestured for me to take the chair nearby. As I obeyed, smoothing my skirts under me, she finally remarked, “I see you’re wearing Ysabelle’s fashions today. As am I.” She then held out her arm and inspected the bell sleeve of her robe with one critical brow lifted. “It isn’t the worst I’ve seen, but I am not yet convinced she was the perfect choice. Still,” she added, returning her attention to me, “I must say, what you are wearing now is a thousand times better than what you’ve had thus far, even if it still isn’t appropriate for the Inquisition’s Prophetess. It might suffice for a Marcher merchant’s daughter, but certainly not a supposed mouthpiece of the Maker and companion to the Herald of Andraste.” She pressed her lips together. “As usual, I shall have to arrange something myself if I wish to see it done correctly.”

I felt my brows arch at that. But before I could respond to her suggestion, let alone defend Lady Guillerose’s ideas (which I rather liked, myself), Vivienne continued, “But the Inquisition’s fashion blunders aren’t what I wished to speak to you about, as significant as they are. I have something more important I wish to discuss, now that I have you here.” She paused, draping her arm over the back of the divan. “Tell me, Tamsyn, have you ever interacted with nobility before? As in, held a conversation at a social gathering.”

I hesitated. “Well, there _was_ Lady Guillerose, of course…”

“Of course,” she agreed, glancing off for a moment. “But I would not consider Ysabelle a typical noblewoman by any stretch of the imagination.” Briefly examining her long, lacquered nails, she returned her gaze to mine. “In any case, now that you have somewhat suitable attire for doing so, I believe we should concentrate on getting you experience with court life and intrigues. Halamshiral is almost upon us, and we cannot risk your ignorance of customs and expectations damaging the Inquisition, however accidental.”

“I see,” I said flatly. As usual, I wasn’t sure whether or not to be insulted by her remarks.

She held up her hand in reassurance, leaning forward a bit as she explained. “I don’t fault you, my dear. You could hardly be expected to know these things already considering your circumstances. As a matter of fact, I would have been very surprised had you said yes. And even then I did not anticipate your homeland’s customs to be anything like those of the Orlesian court.”

She then reached over to the side table near her elbow, picking up one of the heavy tomes stacked there and offering it to me. After a brief moment’s hesitation, I took it from her tentatively, wondering what exactly it was and why she wanted me to have it. The book was leather-bound, and stamped on the cover were fanciful designs in gold leaf.

“This is a guide of traditional court etiquette,” she explained. “It is standard fare in schools across the Empire. Of course, it does not cover _every_ possible situation you might encounter. Individual nuances in various regions will be somewhat different; they change almost every year according to the whims of the locals. And it cannot account for particular preferences and inconsistencies. But it should be enough for now.”

Then, lifting another book from the same stack as the other, she handed it to me too and continued on, “Take this, as well. It is a book of Orlesian noble houses. You will need to be aware of these things should you hold a conversation with anyone of any significant rank. I recommend you study both of these and commit much of them both to memory in these last weeks before Halamshiral. I understand you have started dancing lessons with Dorian, but knowing dance steps alone will not save you if you are cornered by those much more well-versed in court protocol than you.”

I sighed, looking first at one and then the other of the beautifully-embellished covers.

_More reading. Wonderful. Just what I need._

But despite my annoyance at being thrown yet another chunk of text to absorb, I knew Vivienne was right and that she was truly trying to help me, in her own way. My lack of experience dealing with nobility, especially Orlesian nobility, could most certainly be used as a weapon against me if any of the vultures at Halamshiral smelled weakness. And whatever resulted from such calculated attacks could indeed harm not only me, personally, but also the Inquisition itself, serving to widen the crack in our collective armor.

I nodded to myself in acceptance. I couldn’t let that happen.

\------------------------------------------------------

Our conversation lightened considerably after that, turning to the recent spectacle of the snowball fight (her involvement in which the Enchantress insisted was solely for the sake of the children), among other things. Then, after finally politely parting ways with Vivienne for the day, I handed off my new books to a momentarily-free courier to take back to my room for me. There they would join the rest of my steadily-growing, yet still small collection. I still had the two copies of the Chant from Haven, the little play Josephine had given me, as well as the _Realitas Imagina_ (which I would probably have to give back to Dorian at some point), and now I was adding the two Orlesian books from Vivienne to the mix. It wasn’t anything like the library I had amassed over the years back home, but it was a start.

Just as I emerged back at the main hall, my heels clicking sharply on the flagstones and causing a few masked gazes to flash in my direction, I noticed that Varric was rather busily writing away at his table in front of the hearth. Curious as to what the dwarf was so immersed in, I cautiously made my way over.

“Hello, Varric,” I said at length, hoping I wasn’t interrupting anything too important.

At that, he glanced up at me, his quill pausing its scratching. “Fortune Teller. Good to see you around.” He cocked his head a little and set the quill in his inkwell, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out in front of him. “That’s one of your new outfits, right? The ones you and Josephine went for in Val Royeaux?”

I grinned a bit, playfully swishing the skirts and watching the gold satin and embroidery glimmer in the firelight. “It is.”

He mirrored my smile and nodded. “It looks good on you. I honestly haven’t worked up the nerve to try wearing what was made for me, yet,” he added, his expression shifting briefly to a grimace. “There’s two _very_ nice velvet coats in there, and all I can think about is how many different things Sera could pour on them, intentionally or not. Lard, mustard, syrup, you name it.” He shook his head. “I may not be into noble business as much as people assume I am, but even _I_ cringe when good velvet gets ruined. And I think I’d feel even worse for Ruffles if she found out.”

I crinkled my brow in confusion. “I don’t think I follow. Has Sera poured things on you before?”

“You must have missed it during that week you were secluded in your room every day,” he explained, leaning forward in his chair again. “She’s managed to get food all over me no fewer than three times in that span.” Enumerating on his fingers, he continued, listing out the instances, “The first was a freshly-cooked egg, sunny-side up, that landed on top of my head and took _ages_ to get out of my hair; it happened when I was eating breakfast at the tavern, and I’m pretty sure she dropped it on me from the second floor…”

Aghast, I felt my mouth fall open as he went on without skipping a beat. “The next was an entire pitcher of cream meant for tea with a couple of noble guests, which she ‘accidentally’ bumped off of the servant’s tray right when they passed by my table.” He punctuated this second example with an eye roll. “And then the third was a tureen of gravy at supper the other night. Is this her usually crazy way of saying dwarves are bland or something?” he finally asked. “Because I have a hard time believing all of these incidences are ‘accidental.’”

I couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that, my amusement at the increasingly-humorous situation having steadily built up over the course of his tale. “Yes, Varric, that’s exactly it; she’s giving you extra flavoring.”

He shrugged and nodded acceptingly, as though it made complete sense to him. “For when His Inquisitorialness decides to throw me at a dragon again, of course. If I’m going to be bait, I might as well taste good, right?”

We laughed aloud together, then, causing more heads to briefly turn our way, which made us both stop just as abruptly due to sudden discomfort.

“So,” he added more seriously, peaking his fingers, “did you need something from me or are you just here to chat for a while?”

“I _would_ like to chat if you have some time,” I said hopefully.

“For you, Fortune Teller? Of course,” he answered with a broad and warm smile, gesturing to the chair nearest him. “Besides, I need a break from this manuscript.”

I moved to take a seat, then, squinting at the rather haphazard stack of parchment set in front of it. “What is it you’re working on?”

He sighed, drumming his fingers atop the pile. “The next chapter of my romance serial, believe it or not. Just before he left for the Graves, Max told me Cassandra just happened to be into it, and he managed to convince me to finish it up just for her.” He shook his head again. “I still can’t believe I heard him right. But if it’s true, I can’t pass up the opportunity to see the look on her face when she gets it.” He chuckled to himself, the subsequent look on his face rather wicked. “He’s promised me I can be there when he gifts it to her, and I’m going to hold him to it.”

This time it was I who leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table as I squinted at him and smirked. “You act like this is a prank, but I know you’re warming up to her.”

“ _Pff_ , yeah right,” he scoffed, pinching his thumb and forefinger together until they were less than an inch apart. “Just about _this_ much above permafrost.”

“Oh _come on_ , Varric,” I huffed at him. “It’s okay to admit you’re not angry at the Seeker anymore.”

“Me?” he feigned shock, putting a hand to his half-bare chest like a stunned lady. “Oh, no, I’m not angry. Definitely not. _She’s_ the one with a grudge to get over. Not me. Not the one she bruised, threatened, kidnapped, and strong-armed into joining the Inquisition,” he grumbled.

My lips compressed. “You know, Varric, she _does_ feel bad about that. She knows why you defended Hawke the way you did. And I think some part of her admires you for that dedication.”

“You’re shitting me,” he said flatly, obviously not convinced.

“And you should know you’re not the only one who has been hurt by the other’s insults, either,” I added pointedly, remembering the conversation I had with Cassandra not so long ago.

“You’re seriously telling me she has feelings?” he asked incredulously. “I’m shocked.”

“She knows you’re Andrastian, too. She considers you one of the faithful.”

He groaned, putting his head in his hands and shaking it. Then, after several moments, he let his forearms smack on the surface of the table resignedly as he returned his attention to me. “I get it, I do. I’m smart enough to understand where she was coming from… even if her methods _were_ questionable,” he muttered. “Underneath it all she’s a good person, and she wants the best for the people of Thedas. That’s a lot more than most. And she wouldn’t have sacrificed her reputation and her career like this if she didn’t feel that way,” he continued. “But she’s still got problems.”

I crossed my arms, hooking my hands under my elbows. “And that must mean you’re going to be the best of friends. Because we know that somehow, some way, all your greatest friends have problems, right, Varric?”

“Right. And by your logic, that makes me some sort of masochist.”

Silence followed that, during which there was no laughter from either of us, and I let the natural hum of the hall fill my ears as my gaze traveled to the fireplace. Despite the hint of humor in his words, I understood Varric felt less than happy about his life choices and what had happened to his friends as a result, even if his friends were just as flawed and had made the same kind of poor choices before him.

At last, though, he sighed heavily, clasping his hands together and glancing down at the stretch of wooden table between his arms. “I think I need a really long nap. All this shit with Bianca is keeping me up at night.” Pausing and returning his gaze to me, he added, “Tell me this isn’t as bad as my conscience is making it out to be.”

My lips pressed together again, and I let out a long breath through my nose. “I can’t lie to you, Varric. It’s bad. But it’s not as bad as you might think. Mistakes were made. And you and Max are going to have to help fix them, unfortunately. Bianca can’t do it by herself, and she knows it.”

“You mean _I_ made mistakes,” Varric corrected bitterly, “and the Inquisitor has to deal with it. First Hawke, now him. Who else is going to suffer because of my idiocy?” He looked away, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, the firelight highlighting the sparkle of emotion in his eyes.

“Varric…” I began, but then a flash of metal from the nearby doorway caught my attention out of the corner of my peripheral vision.

 _Cullen_. My thoughts were briefly wiped blank by his sudden presence; I completely forgot what I was going to say to Varric, even though it had just been on the tip of my tongue. It felt like butterflies were trapped in my stomach, and I struggled to not let it show on my face.

The Commander nodded to me in acknowledgment as he approached from the direction of Solas’s rotunda, skirting past a pair of gossiping staff members, and I noted that he held a small piece of folded parchment in his hands – a letter, judging from the hint of a broken wax seal. Had something just come in from the rookery?

“Curly,” Varric said in greeting, turning so that he could face him fully.

“Tamsyn. Varric.” Cullen glanced between us as he drew to a halt before the table. “It is fortunate to see you here. Perhaps you both would be interested to know about this,” he indicated the message before tossing it onto the table. “Word just arrived from the Inquisitor regarding the red lyrium situation in Orlais. Leliana passed it to me just moments ago.”

“Oh? What about it?” Varric asked as he picked it up and unfolded it.

“He’s destroyed a significant red lyrium cache in the Emerald Graves,” Cullen replied, “and he says he has information on the smugglers who’ve been transporting it through the Dales. He was hesitant to say more on paper for fear the message might be intercepted. He is on his way back to Skyhold as we speak and wishes to hold a war council meeting as soon as he arrives.”

Already. It would be the Emprise soon, and then it wouldn’t be long afterwards until Maxwell and Cullen would be off on a mission together to find the Shrine of Dumat. My heart did a little nervous flop at that revelation. Cullen had come away from the experience unscathed in the game. But what about real life?

Varric nodded his understanding as he handed the letter back to the Commander, his mouth a thin line, and his face was graven with a grim expression. “Good. Not that I think it’s going to do that much to help in the long run, mind you. This shit spreads like wildfire. But good.”

“We will do all we can to quell it,” Cullen said, his sharp gaze flicking to mine briefly. “We must. And not solely because of the Red Templars.”

“I know. And you’re doing more than the Merchant’s Guild, for damned sure. It just feels like all we’re doing is pissing on a bonfire,” Varric replied sourly.

“That’s… not an inaccurate analogy,” I admitted with a slight chuckle.

“And _you_ saying that is how I know it’s bad,” Varric said. “Ergh… I need a really big distraction from all of this bullshit right about now. How about a round of Wicked Grace at the tavern later tonight?”

“I’m game for it,” I said with a shrug, which was not precisely representative of the eagerness I felt inside. “It’s been too long, really.” Then, I glanced to Cullen, my nerves threatening to get the better of me before I finally managed to ask, “What about you, Commander?”

He took a step from the table as he tucked the letter into his coat and glanced downwards. “I shouldn’t…” he began.

“Oh, come _on_ , Curly,” Varric admonished, a note of irritation in his voice. “If you don’t get away from those reports, you’re going to turn into one. You’re already dry and boring as it is.”

Cullen’s gaze turned into a hard glare as he looked back up at the dwarf across from him. “All right. Fine. I suppose I can spare an hour or two.”

“Excellent!” Varric replied, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. “I’ll see who else I can scrounge up between now and… say, eight-o’-the-bells? After supper?”

I nodded my agreement. Even though my practices with Dorian were after the last meal of the day, I had no doubt he would cut them short if it meant time for a round or two at the tavern with friends. “I should be able to make it right around then.”

Cullen acquiesced with a heavy sigh and nod, “I will make time.” Then, brushing past my chair and towards the doors, he added, “Until then, if you need me, you know where to find me.”

“Right.”

And with that, the Commander was gone in just a few long strides, though not without gossipy whispers swirling in his wake from the nobles he passed by. It caused a strange smile to pull at my lips, as I had a feeling I knew exactly what they were talking about.

I returned my attention to Varric, then, and the dwarf winked – a sign of what could only be mischief afoot.

_Uh-oh._

\------------------------------------------------------

“So you’re saying Manicius is full of shit?”

I asked the question as Dorian spun me in a circle once, twice, thrice, my skirts swirling around me in a circle of black and gold.

“I’m saying Manicius _is_ shit,” he replied darkly as he pulled me back to him by the hand. “I knew him from the Circle of Minrathous. His family paid for his promotions, and the senior enchanters gladly pocketed the coin and gave him all the titles he could ever want. Oh, he _is_ a mage, yes, but he can’t _do_ anything with his piss-ant powers other than cause trouble. And he doesn’t know his arse from the Breach.”

I lifted one brow, following the Tevinter back and forth across the floor much more easily than I had before, even though my legs still hurt. “So his article is…?”

Dorian sighed and briefly closed his eyes. “Likely written by someone else whom he paid to be able to put _his_ name on the manuscript instead. He also won’t use the same person twice to avoid blackmail, so you won’t be able to find any more of it anytime soon.”

“Damnit,” I muttered, unable to hide my discontent. That had been, perhaps, one of the most interesting pieces from the _Imagina_ I’d come across to date.

“Indeed,” Dorian agreed, coming to a halt and bowing as I curtseyed back. “It is a promising work of scholarship, I agree, but Manicius isn’t the one behind it.” Straightening at last, he grinned, and added, “Well, I believe that concludes today’s practice, Tamsyn. I must say you’ve done much better, this time around. I think you finally shed your second left foot and sufficiently unwound yourself enough to give me at least a sliver of hope for the ball.”

I grinned back, pride filling me as I pulled my hands behind me. “I’m glad I didn’t disappoint.”

“Far from it,” he replied, crossing his arms. “At this rate, you’ll be an expert in no time. But what facilitated such improvement, I wonder?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said with a smile. “Maybe it was a much-needed kick by a certain Altus in my apparently well-viewed arse?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Dorian deflected, though I could tell from the way his mustache curled at the ends he was fighting another grin.

I snorted. “Now who’s full of shit?”

“Certainly not me,” he said haughtily, and then he gestured for the stairs. “I suppose we should be headed to the tavern now? If you want to make it to the game, that is?”

“I suppose so,” I agreed, moving alongside him towards the stairwell. “I wonder who else Varric managed to persuade to come.”

“Well, now that you’ve told me he’s an expected attendee, I’m willing to wager a certain Commander will conveniently fabricate a last-minute crisis that requires every ounce of his attention for the next twenty-four hours,” Dorian replied flatly.

I smirked, though I kept my eyes fixed ahead as we ascended the stone steps. “I’m surprised you say this so confidently after you lost at least one chess match to him.”

“I may not be able to anticipate his every move on a chessboard, true, but his social life is glaringly predictable by contrast,” he answered, adding after a breath, “As in _nonexistent_.”

“And if he does show up?” I asked as I paused and glanced to him with brow raised.

Dorian chuckled. “Then it’s yet more proof we’re facing the end of the world.”

We emerged in the almost empty hall and then continued out into the frigid evening air. I shivered when the wind pierced through my silks like a spear; I should have thought to bring my cloak before practicing with Dorian so I would have had it ready for the brief jaunt in the open courtyard. But then, suddenly and without warning, the Altus smoothly stepped sideways towards me and put an arm around my shoulders, hugging me to him as we walked towards the Herald’s Rest.

“Why, thank you, Ser Pavus,” I said graciously, appreciative of the protection and warmth he offered.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied simply.

When at last we ducked into the welcome shelter of the tavern, I noticed Varric was already there, two tables pushed together in front of him and chairs set all around. There were no drinks this time. Sitting with him were Iron Bull, Josephine, and – quite surprisingly – Cullen. Everyone looked up when we entered, more than a few brows raised.

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” Dorian cursed quietly, releasing me and giving me a look as he realized his bet was lost. My own response was two-fold – nervously excited surprise at seeing Cullen actually there, and quiet amusement at Dorian’s failed prediction.

“There you two are,” Varric said, waving us over to join them with a welcoming grin. “Glad you could finally make it.”

“This is _all_?” Dorian replied with feigned disappointment, moving towards the space beside Iron Bull. “Only a few brave souls among us, it seems.”

“I did invite more,” Varric explained, shuffling the well-worn deck of cards in his hands. “But they couldn’t make it for prior obligations. The Knight-Captain in particular is occupied down at the camp. I also asked your friend Lea if she wanted to join us,” he added, nodding to me, “but she said she was too busy in the keep. Something about cleaning out storage space in one of the newer rooms.” He shuffled the cards again. “We’re not playing for coin, tonight, anyway. Just stories.”

“That is just as well,” Josephine remarked as I sat down in the empty chair next to her, across from Cullen. “Not every game of cards must involve gambling.”

“Says the ever-thrifty Antivan,” Varric said with a wink, beginning to deal out the cards for the game.

“I wasn’t _always_ frugal,” she replied, stopping the sliding arrival of one of the cards with her fingertips. “I could be quite the spender in my more frivolous days.”

“Frivolous, eh?” Iron Bull remarked, taking stock of his hand so far. “Do tell.”

“I would rather not, if you don’t mind,” Josie said, her cheeks tinting a rosy hue. “I am certain Leliana would be more than happy to elaborate about my more adventurous endeavors, should you ask her. Just be certain to do it when I am not within earshot, if you please. I care not to revisit some of those tales.”

“But weren’t you studying in Orlais at the time?” Cullen asked, rearranging his hand and then tossing one in the discard pile before exchanging it from an apparently equally-disappointing one, judging from his expression.

“Well… yes…” Josephine began hesitantly during Iron Bull’s turn.

“Ha,” Dorian chuckled, drawing and discarding as well. “More like ‘studying’, yes?”

“I happened to be _quite_ studious, thank you very much!” Josephine retorted before drawing her own new card. “I never _once_ shirked my work no matter how many parties I attended. And sometimes they _were_ my work.”

“I jest, Ambassador,” Dorian soothed while I adjusted my hand and made my turn (no matches – thus far, I was screwed). “I know precisely what you mean. Forced socialization with wine and dancing the night before an exam held at dawn the following day. Good times.”

“Curly, on the other hand, is a stick in the mud,” Varric observed as he drew and discarded. “He wouldn’t know about all that.”

“No, Varric, I was far too busy reciting Transfigurations on an empty stomach while a Chantry sister withheld dinner from me and made me start all over if a missed a single word,” Cullen replied as he stared at his hand.

“ _Ooh_. Ouch. That reminds me a little too much of my childhood, there,” Bull remarked, shuffling his new card into his hand and lingering over what to throw out.

“What about you, Tamsyn?” Josephine asked, before Dorian suddenly called “Angel of Death!” and everyone tossed their hands on the table. No matches for me or Cullen. Two sets of two for Dorian and Varric, one set of three for Bull, and four of a kind for Josephine. No surprise there.

“Um… what now?” I asked as Varric collected the cards and began to reshuffle them.

“I recall you mentioning you had an education at a university, correct?” she elaborated without looking at me, instead watching unblinkingly as Varric quickly dealt the cards again. “What was it like?”

“ _If_ you’re comfortable sharing. Dredging up old memories didn’t seem to help you much last time,” Bull added solemnly.

“Right,” Varric agreed. “If you aren’t ready, you don’t have to answer.”

I sighed, collecting my cards silently for a moment as I thought. “It’s all right. I… think I _need_ to talk about it, really.”

Varric nodded his understanding. “I’d take that as a good sign there, Fortune Teller.”

“Agreed,” Dorian remarked as he examined his new hand. “I think it’s safe to say most of us have been avoiding the subject of your origins, despite any curiosity about it, for your sake. But if it will help you push forward at this point, I certainly shan’t hold back any longer.”

It was then everyone fell silent, apparently politely waiting for me to answer the question as they began a new round. I noticed no one seemed too expectant or overeager, which I took as additional courtesy.

“Well,” I said at length after passing my turn. “Let’s see. We didn’t have anything like etiquette school. And we didn’t have to have noble patrons to get in. Anyone could go who did well enough on exams and could find the money to pay for it, either out of pocket or scholarships or loans.”

“That is… quite interesting,” Josephine remarked, obviously surprised. Though, if she felt it was an asset or a detriment, she didn’t remark on it.

“Though there were parties conducted by fraternities and sororities, they weren’t required for study,” I continued. “They were all strictly extracurricular. Of a sort.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” Dorian commented, obviously disappointed.

I smirked and reshuffled my hand. “As for the education itself, we had focuses, called majors. Mine was… literature,” I said after a moment, knowing I couldn’t use “English” and make sense. “And then we had smaller side focuses. Mine was history. I wanted to become an article writer for archaeologists and historians.”

“And did you ever get a chance to do that?” Cullen asked, his golden gaze briefly flicking upwards to mine as he discarded another card.

I felt a brief heat rising in my cheeks and refocused on my own cards. “Yes. Though not in the way I originally thought I would. Most of the people I wrote for were amateurs or treasure hunters working on smaller projects. Either that or it was more like reports relayed from other sources to smaller outlets. The pay was minimal at best.” I chuckled a little. “I guess my life was rather disappointing until I came here.”

“It’s a shame you don’t have more opportunities to exercise your skills. Kinda seems like a waste now, doesn’t it?” Bull asked.

“Yes…” Dorian mused aloud. “Writing about historical discoveries isn’t exactly high on the priority list for anyone right now, is it?”

“No, but you know what you _could_ do?” Varric said suddenly, leaning forward so far he almost revealed his hand to Bull.

“What?” I asked, wondering what precisely he had in mind.

He grinned broadly. “Chronicle the Inquisition.”

Josephine gasped, her expression one of happy surprise as she exchanged looks with me. “Why, that is a _wonderful_ idea!”

“Chronicle the Inquisition?” I asked incredulously.

Varric shifted in his seat. “Look, Fortune Teller. Everyone else will want to turn this story into legend and won’t care about the factual version of things. But you have an appreciation for how events really happen. And how they’re supposed to be. Who better to tackle the documentation of all that than you?”

“I think it is _perfect_ ,” Josephine said with a nod, still smiling and rearranging her cards in an excited flurry. “I can easily find scholars at the University of Orlais who will be happy to house your work.”

“And I’m certain Tevinter would be interested in a few copies as well,” Dorian added.

“You really think I should?” I asked, glancing to each of them in turn. It was certainly an interesting prospect, and one that was very nearly exciting. But I also couldn’t help but be a little apprehensive about it…

Varric shrugged. “Well, it’s up to you, really. But you never know when being involved with something like that might come in handy. I’m living proof writers make connections, and connections can be useful.”

I frowned. “But do you think it’s something the ‘Prophetess of the Inquisition’ should do, though? That it would fit that image of me?”

“An image that never should have been fostered in the first place,” Cullen remarked darkly, to which Josephine glared sharply in response.

I couldn’t say I disagreed with the Commander on that point. I remembered distinctly that the goal had at first been to keep as quiet as possible about what I knew and how I knew it, for both my personal safety and that of the Inquisition. Then, for some odd reason, the rumors about the “Prophetess of the Inquisition” had begun swirling in earnest shortly after the fall of Haven, and no one seemed all that eager to stop them yet. I wondered if Josephine and even Leliana were the ones who had purposefully let them grow to aid in legitimizing the Inquisition as a divine calling, somehow. If so, I could actually be headed for trouble in the future…

“It might serve to bring you back down to earth, so to speak,” Dorian replied at length. “Which could be a good thing. Andraste remained a mythical Prophetess, too, far removed from everyone around her but her closest comrades. And look what happened to her as a result.”

It was a sobering thought. Suddenly, the prospects of writing the story of the Inquisition didn’t seem like such a mere suggestion after all.

It seemed like it was a necessity for survival.

\------------------------------------------------------

When the wager-less game finally drew to a close, we all said our good-nights, and I returned to my room at last. But once there, I found I couldn’t still my mind enough to relax, for a reason I couldn’t quite place. I was too wired to sleep, and after fifteen minutes of pacing around my chambers, I plopped at my desk chair and picked up my quill. I then fished out the hidden piece of parchment that bore the haphazard scribblings that was my fledgling sonnet, the piece of my soul I couldn’t keep out of the back of my mind ever since I had started it. It was my welcome outlet, the rhymes reflecting everything I couldn’t say and pulling the anxiety right out of me every time I read and inscribed them.

My bottom lip held between my teeth, I immediately set to writing again, the thoughts now flowing easily from my pen to the page:

_Alas, unknowing owner of my heart,_

_My love for thee, my tongue cannot express._

_And though the words do ache to from me part,_

_They shall be caged eternal in my breast._

_While courage is a virtue that is thine,_

_Foul cowardice instead belongs to me._

_Around my heart its clutching tendrils twine_

_So love’s own words and thoughts cannot fly free…_


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long with this chapter. RL is still very busy and draining, and so my motivation briefly vanished. I hope it is worth the wait. :)

Four months in Thedas.

The revelation came along with my next monthly cycle – something which I had very nearly forgotten about until it was almost too late. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how one chose to look at it), the arrival of my menses was typically painful and debilitating days in advance, which gave me just enough warning to make proper preparations for it. If ever there was a time I was thankful Cassandra was gone from the castle, it was now, as I didn’t think I could make it through one of her practice sessions in this miserable condition. The last time I had experienced my cycle, I was in the middle of a long carriage journey to Val Royeaux, and that had been bad enough _without_ the subsequent run-in with an assassin.

Thus, with the onset of my cycle also returned a whole host of bad memories that plagued my thoughts in the morning hours, as well as a grim reminder: it had been less than a month since someone had tried to kill me. Part of me couldn’t help but wonder how long this dry spell between threats on my life would last and whether or not something would happen to me here, at the Inquisition’s heart. The game had proven that not even Iron Bull and Josephine could avoid assassins at Skyhold, and that despite the obviously extensive security measures taken at the castle, they could only be improved retroactively, which certainly didn’t benefit the person attacked in the aftermath.

With my jaw set, I forcefully banished these thoughts from my mind. There was no use speculating on it and perpetuating the downward spiral of my mood. Instead, I downed an elfroot potion and decided to take a walk around the castle battlements – something that ultimately did wonders for my cycle-induced ill temperament.

Even though the snow yet lingered, and there was a bitter chill in the winter air, the bright morning sun was soothing on my back and arms, seeping through the sleeves of my rust-colored outfit with all the gentleness of warm bathwater. The atmosphere was crystal clear and crisp, the sky above was a cloudless baby blue, and the wind was minimal, allowing me to truly take a moment to appreciate the stark beauty of the world around me. Now that I lived here, seeing the same sights day in and day out, it was easy to take such scenery for granted. Crossing my arms against the cold, I forced myself to stop and take a literal breath, letting my eyes soak in the formidable landscape and the equally remarkable fortress in which I now dwelled.

Skyhold was, in every sense of the word, gorgeous. Breathtakingly so.

Despite the harsh environment, the constant noise and bustle of people going to and fro, and the equally strong smells of food, sweat, wood smoke, horses, dogs, leather, and metal, there was no place I would rather be. The castle was magnificent even when we first found it, but with all of the renovations that had been made since the Inquisition’s arrival, it was now truly glorious. Being here was like living a dream, and though I knew the Inquisition as it was would not last forever, I couldn’t imagine myself ever leaving this place. It might have been a military headquarters at its core, but it also had the distinct and comforting feel of a home – not just a place of rest and respite, but _home_. Whatever magic Tarasyl’an Tel’as possessed in its stones, it held me spellbound, and I was powerless to escape its thrall.

Was it possible to fall in love with a place? Because if so, I was in love with this castle already. Right down to the last time-worn cobble. Fen’harel be damned… this was our place, now.

 _My_ place.

The distinct urge to scrub every ounce of the brightly-painted plaster off of the rotunda walls was almost irresistible as I later made my way through Solas’s empty haunt and up the stairs to the rookery to seek out Sister Nightingale. I held in my gloved hands proof of the success I had finally achieved the previous night not long after I had laid the sonnet to rest – Leliana’s puzzle, her “simply” locked box, was now solved, the lid wide open as evidence of my victory.

As usual, the distinct smell of the rookery greeted me far before any of Leliana’s agents did, and I resisted the urge to curl my lip at the odor for fear the scouts would misinterpret it as disdain for them. After but a moment of searching, I at last found the Nightingale herself tending to one of her ravens near an empty hanging cage, the rather small and delicate-looking creature perched silently on her gloved forearm. The raven gave me its full attention long before Leliana did, though I knew without a doubt she was just as aware of my presence as her keen-eyed bird.

“Hello, Tamsyn,” she greeted me at length, finally turning my way to see the box I held out for her to inspect. “Oh! You did it!” She exclaimed, and then she smiled broadly, her eyes twinkling in the torchlight. “Excellent. I was beginning to wonder.”

“So was I,” I admitted with a sheepish grin, glancing down at the box. “But I think I have the hang of it, now.” Then, after a moment, I added, “I’m almost glad you didn’t give me any guides or books on the subject. I think the experience of trying and failing, however frustrating, was worth more.”

“I thought as much,” she agreed with a nod. “Sometimes, failure is indeed the best teacher.” Gesturing to her table with her free hand, she continued, “Just set it there and I will come up with a new challenge for you when I have time. Though that might be a while, I fear,” she paused and frowned slightly, suggesting something was proving to be an obstacle for the Inquisition’s spymistress.

“Calpernia still giving you trouble?” I asked as I moved to do as she bade. Since her repeatedly canceled archery practices, I had assumed the hunt for the Tevinter mage was becoming rather tricky, requiring the Nightingale’s near-constant proximity to her messenger ravens in order to conduct properly.

“Unfortunately, yes,” she said, reaching up and affectionately stroking the curve of the raven’s smooth ebon head. The bird’s eyes slipped shut momentarily at the touch. “As I said in our last meeting, she covers her tracks well. Almost as well as my own agents.” Her lips thinned. “She is proving increasingly difficult to follow, and trailing her is proving quite dangerous. We are being forced to work slower than I would like.” She huffed out a sigh, returning her attention to me. “Still, we _have_ made some progress, and I am thankful for it. There is yet that merchant in Val Royeaux I want investigated, and we have found other contacts of interest elsewhere in Orlais. She cannot hide from us forever.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, allowing a small smile to pull at my lips in an attempt to subtly reassure her. “You’ll find her eventually.”

As I suspected, that smile did not escape her notice, judging from the way her eyes flicked downwards for a brief second. “Hopefully sooner, rather than later.”

Glancing back to the raven on her arm, she added, “It is fortunate that you came here when you did. I was just contemplating whether or not Nina here would be a suitable raven for you.”

My brows shot upwards, and I gaped, first at her and then at the raven. “For… _me_?”

Though I was considered a member of the Inner Circle alongside the rest of them, not once did I ever expect to have the honor of using one of Leliana’s infamous avian pets for myself. It made my heart skip a beat in nervous excitement. The Nightingale’s birds were nothing short of legendary, really.

“Of course,” she replied with a single affirmative nod, her tone suggesting the answer was obvious. “The Inquisitor, Josephine, Cullen, and I all have specially-trained personal messenger ravens for swift and confidential correspondence here at Skyhold. It has taken me quite a while to find a bird with a temperament that would suit you. But Nina might just do. What do you think?”

She then extended her arm towards me, and the raven quietly hopped from her leather-clad forearm towards her wrist with the slight scrape of talons. I had to fight to keep from flinching as it then sprang from her hand in a rush, landing right onto my shoulder in the space of an instant. It flapped its wings a bit as it turned back around to face Leliana, but then immediately settled down once more, blinking at me with a large and shining black eye that held almost frightening intelligence.

“Well hello, Nina,” I greeted the bird quietly, my subsequent chuckle still a bit nervous. I hadn’t forgotten the lore codex about a particular member of the Nightingale’s ravens and its tendency to bite, and I hoped I wouldn’t suddenly lose an earlobe if I somehow did something Nina didn’t like. “You’re a quiet thing, aren’t you?” I added after a moment, carefully lifting one finger to stroke the soft and slightly-fluffed feathers of the raven’s chest. “A very nice birdie, yes.”

Leliana beamed proudly at her pet. “I think she likes you.”

I grinned slowly and nodded in agreement as Nina cocked her head at me curiously and gently nibbled a little at the seam of my gloved fingertip. “I really hope she does.”

“Well, I suppose that settles it, then,” the Nightingale replied, moving for her desk and settling into her chair before picking up her quill to jot down a few notes. “I will have her cage brought to your room, along with instructions for her care.” Turning briefly, she called, “Iris?”

A petite elven woman, garbed in the uniform of the Inquisition’s scouts, seemingly materialized from the shadows past a stack of wooden crates, bowing a little to Leliana as she approached us both. “Yes, Mistress Nightingale?”

“Have Nina’s cage brought down from the rafters, house her within, and then send her up to Lady Tamsyn’s quarters, please. Make sure to send at least a month’s worth of care supplies, as well.”

“It will be as you wish, my lady,” the elf bowed again, more deeply this time. Then, clucking her tongue, she said shortly, “Nina!”

At that, the raven on my shoulder voiced a single deep-yet-soft caw, and she was off, gliding the small distance between myself and Leliana’s scout to perch on the elf’s proffered forearm.

“Once Nina is at your quarters,” the Nightingale said at length, drawing my attention back to her as Iris moved to do as bade, “practice empty flights with her from your window. No messages attached. She knows the words ‘Cullen,’ ‘Josie,’ ‘Tower’ for the Inquisitor and ‘Roost’ for the rookery. She’ll need time to adjust to her new home location, but it should only take a few flights to re-establish her routes. She is one of my quicker learners.”

I nodded to affirm my understanding. “All right, I’ll do that.” Then, grinning again somewhat self-consciously, I added, “Thank you, Leliana. It… ” I hesitated, struggling to find the words to express my feelings, and the spymistress only blinked as she patiently waited for me to finish my sentence. Feeling my cheeks heat, I continued awkwardly, “It might seem stupid, but… well, it really does make me feel like I belong.”

A slow, broad, and warm smile was her only answer.

\------------------------------------------------------

I had descended the spiral stairs once more and had just re-entered Solas’s rotunda when the door to the bridge opened with a creak and a gust of chilly air. I paused to see who was entering there when Cullen stepped through, his armor briefly shimmering from the bright sunlight outside. He seemed to do a quick double-take upon seeing me standing at the foot of the staircase, and a brief smile flickered across his face as he met my gaze with his own, slightly softening the features that were so prominently chiseled in the lighting of the room.

“Tamsyn,” he said, slowing his pace and stopping before me. I noticed he had his chess set in one hand, tucked against his side. His tone was a musing one as he asked, “Are you busy, perchance?”

“Not at the moment,” I replied hesitantly, sensing what he was going to ask but deciding to inquire about the reason, nonetheless. There was no use in assuming. “Why?”

He indicated the stairs. “I was just about to let Dorian know I had time for the rematch he outright _demanded_ at our last game. But I must admit I am reluctant to put up with his cheating again,” he explained, his countenance reflecting his annoyance for a moment. He then outstretched one arm in a gesture of invitation, the vambrace catching the torchlight. “Would you care to join me instead?”

Despite my internal elation at his offer, my insides aquiver with yet more nerves, I managed to cover it with a simple smirk. “I thought you’d never ask. I’ve been dying to lose to you again ever since the last time,” I said with as serious of a tone as I could muster.

He barked out an amused laugh that echoed on the painted walls, a rare broad smile then pulling at his lips as he briefly glanced away and back again. “Excellent. The garden is a bit cold for a game there, but perhaps we can find a suitable place in the keep?” he inquired. “Josephine told me some of the lower rooms had been renovated into leisure areas for those inclined to use them. Should we try there?”

I nodded my agreement with his suggestion, motioning for him to go ahead of me. “Of course. Lead the way, Commander.”

And with that, we began our search for a place to conduct our game in peace, away from gossiping nobles and (hopefully) certain intrusive couriers whose names began with the letter “J”. I followed in Cullen’s footsteps, trying desperately not to look like an overeager puppy all the while; he could walk rather quickly when he had a mind to, and I very nearly had to jog to keep up with him as he skirted past curious masked faces and ducked into a side corridor near Josie’s office. It reminded me of a certain Scout of the Nightingale’s who was now a field agent…

A narrow and somewhat claustrophobic stairway led deeper into the castle, and as we continued on down the stone steps, I found myself immersed in thought – specifically regarding the dashing ex-Templar Commander not three feet ahead of me. I still had a hard time believing I had a snowball’s chance in Hell of ever being in a relationship with Cullen. But with Dorian’s help, I dared to let myself hope again.

He had, despite our occasional arguments, shown me great kindness. And though part of me still maintained he would act in such a manner towards anyone who required it, not just me, I couldn’t help but feel a little blessed by the sweet gestures he had cast my way now and then. He had consoled me in my grief. He had made it a special priority to teach me how to ride a horse without judging me for my lack of knowledge regarding something most other Thedosians already knew by their teenage years. He had indulged in one of his favorite pastimes with me, had let me hug the stuffing out of him without complaint when I needed it, and had personally escorted me across the castle twice after dark at his own insistence. These among many other acts I could dredge out of recent memory.

And, as if that wasn’t enough, he had saved my life without hesitation.

It was indisputable truth that these acts in and of themselves did _not_ constitute feelings of a romantic sort taken on their own. But coupled with Dorian’s revealing words, they gave me a sliver of doubt that _all_ of the Commander’s aforementioned deeds were strictly those of a concerned friend and colleague…

Still, I wasn’t going to throw myself at him with the full confidence that he couldn’t possibly turn me down. I wasn’t that kind of woman, and I didn’t _want_ to be that kind of woman, either. Thus, despite the welcome Altus-induced confidence boost, it was unlikely I’d make the first move – if there ever even was one at all. Nevertheless, in my mind, I promised myself I would take Dorian’s words to heart and not put up a wall between us or play avoidance anymore. Even if it meant I’d be hurt, in the end.

No more fear, one way or the other.

And, if I was completely honest with myself, I was sick and tired of being afraid.

“Ah, here we are.”

Cullen’s voice rather suddenly broke me out of my introspection and forced me back into the present. We had finally stopped at a small side room – doorless and blessedly empty of occupants – that seemed to function as a tiny lounge, complete with a small hearth that burned quietly behind a fancy black iron spark arrestor. The room had been furnished with plush couches and chairs, small mahogany tables here and there. Brand new Inquisition-themed tapestries lined the walls, and elegant carpets muffled and cushioned footsteps. Cullen made a beeline for the pedestal table under the single window on the opposite wall, and I followed, our boots going silent as we crossed the large rug that spanned the center of the room.

“Work all caught up, I’m assuming?” I asked as casually as I could manage. Once we seated ourselves, Cullen immediately set to work unpacking the board and pieces, and I fell silent as I awaited his answer.

_It’s just a friendly game. It’s just a friendly game._

“For the time being,” he replied with a short nod, “at least until the Inquisitor returns. Which is only a matter of days, from what Cassandra told me. She sent a letter alongside His Worship’s explaining the situation in a bit more detail. They are, according to her, pushing their mounts as much as is feasible in order to get back here as quickly as possible.” He paused. “White or black?”

“Black.”

White just seemed more fitting for him, somehow.

He then began distributing the black pieces to my side of the board, which I, in turn, started lining up in their appropriate positions.

“She also mentioned something about a surprise being brought back for you,” he continued, returning to the subject of the letter.

I blinked, somewhat stunned. “Wait, _what?_ ”

A surprise? For me? What kind of surprise? I was filled with both awe and trepidation all at once. Why had the Inquisitor decided to do that? What had I done? I was both a bit excited and afraid to find out…

“That was what she said,” he reaffirmed with a slight shrug as he assembled the white pieces on his side of the board. “I’m not at all certain of what it might be, however. Cassandra didn’t elaborate on the matter. But apparently the culprit behind it was Cole.” A frown pulled the corners of his mouth downwards. “The spirit – or demon, or whatever it is – kicked up something of a fuss until the Inquisitor acquiesced to its demands. Solas, of course, insisted His Worship go along with it. Cassandra told me she was the only one who objected.” He paused again, rubbing at his stubbled chin with one hand. “That… bodes poorly, in my opinion.”

I couldn’t think of what exactly to say to that. Part of me was now fully apprehensive as well as curious about this thing that was being brought back for me. “Oh my.”

“My thoughts precisely,” he said flatly, moving a pawn once his pieces were all in proper order. “We might want to have wards erected for your safety whenever this ‘surprise’ gets here. If it’s something Cole and Solas are comfortable with bringing along, but Cassandra is not, I have my doubts it will be entirely safe for you,” He said, adding after a moment, “Or for anyone, for that matter.”

Realizing he was actually very serious with his answer, I was silent for a moment, thinking of how exactly to respond to his suggestion. I had to admit, I trusted both Cassandra and Cullen’s judgment much better than I did that of Solas or even Cole. But I also trusted Maxwell to know what he was doing, too. The whole situation left me feeling more than a little conflicted.

Finally, I advanced a pawn of my own, mirroring his move for lack of a better idea. “You don’t think the Inquisitor going along with it is a sign it’s actually okay?”

“I… do not,” he said at length, though it was obvious from the almost pained expression on his face that he struggled with the answer. He moved a bishop from behind the space the pawn had created and then leaned back in his chair as he elaborated, “Make no mistake, I trust the Inquisitor. But I also know he is the peacekeeper between all of us, as well. He may mean well without realizing the potential risks involved. Especially regarding objects a strange Fade creature and a mage hyper-focused on the Fade itself both find useful.”

I nodded silently in ultimate acknowledgment of his point, moving another pawn absentmindedly. My thoughts were already wandering elsewhere. His mentioning Cassandra made me think about my lack of training recently, both with the Seeker and the Spymaster, and I also recalled the latter’s bringing up my lack of physical endurance. Biting my lip, I wondered if I should finally ask about training with his soldiers, sometime. I hesitated for a moment, almost paralyzed by my own indecision, but I could almost hear Dorian admonishing me for faltering so.

_Take the leap…_

He moved a knight. I moved a knight. The silence stretched between us for what seemed like years. Well, silence save for the sound of my pulse hammering in my ears, which I was almost certain Cullen would be able to hear if he strained hard enough.

Then, taking a breath and holding it momentarily to gather my courage, I finally spoke.

“So, Cullen… can I ask you something?”

“Always,” was his immediate response, and I felt an electric shiver race down my spine. It was but a single word, and yet it threatened to shut down my brain altogether. Its honeyed timbre slid through my ears and enveloped my mind in a sweet warmth that halted all processes other than the absorption of his reply – both tone and meaning. It took me more than a moment to gather my thoughts to continue, and I used the time he spent analyzing the board and progressing another pawn to recover my senses.

“You know I’ve been training with Cassandra in the mornings, but she’s been gone with the Inquisitor,” I said at length, cautiously sliding forth a bishop and then wincing visibly as his knight immediately captured it.

“Yes, of course.”

I sighed heavily, moving a rook to take one of his pawns as I formulated an explanation. Not that it mattered much in the long-run. “Between her absence and Leliana’s occupation with the hunt for Calpernia, it feels like my combat skills are getting a little rusty.”

He nodded in understanding, taking the rook with his other knight just like I predicted he would. “That is a reasonable assumption and likely true.”

“Would you…” I hesitated again as I moved my other bishop, then closed my eyes and barreled on so as not to lose my momentum, “Would you mind me training with you when they’re too busy to work with me?”

When he glanced up, obviously surprised at this inquiry of mine, I added hastily, “Well, I mean, you and your soldiers, of course. A-as in me _alongside_ your soldiers, not… not as _part_ of them.” I elaborated without knowing if I was explaining myself properly at all. His deeply furrowed brow then caused me to devolve into even _more_ awkwardness, my cheeks and neck burning. “But just with you is fine if you’re okay with it, too! Or if you would prefer that…”

I trailed off as he held up a hand to stop me and chuckled softly, the sound of it making my skin flare even hotter. “Of course, Tamsyn. You’re welcome to join the drills anytime you like.” He then took one of my bishops with his queen. “Come to think of it, it might be good for morale to see someone outside the ranks in need of additional training and willingly joining them. Though I will say, I won’t make any exceptions for non-combatant personnel,” he added with a one-sided wry smile, the corner of his eye crinkling with the movement in a way that just made him ten times more handsome in that moment. “You’ll have to keep up with the rest of them.”

_Fuck, could he get any more goddamned sexy if he tried?_

Something about that smile rendered me completely unable to think again for a half-second, and I found myself absolutely frozen with eyes wide and my mouth threatening to fall open.

_Tamsyn.exe has stopped working…_

Unfortunately for me, he noted my deer-in-the-headlights expression before I could respond to his words, as he added more seriously, “If that is something that intimidates you, however, it _is_ possible for me to make arrangements for one-on-one training. You’ll have to join me early, though. I’m afraid my schedule is rather rigid.”

_Snap out of it and talk, you idiot!_

I gulped down the dryness in my throat, forcing myself to answer him as I tried desperately to push back my tumultuous emotions. “How early are we talking, here?”

“Sunup.”

_Oh, Jesus._

“ _Ugh_ ,” I said aloud, unable to hide my distaste from him. Maybe the Maker would smile on me and let me see Cullen shirtless again to make up for the trouble? That would surely make it worth it. I could feasibly get up at three in the morning every day for the rest of my life if that was what I got to see shortly afterwards…

He gestured with arms wide. “That is my offer. Take it or leave it.”

I sighed heavily, reluctantly nodding my agreement even though I knew I was probably going to regret it later. “I’ll take it. I need the help.”

He nodded his obvious approval at my decision. “Good. Might I suggest we wait until the Inquisitor’s return to begin, though? I want to ensure recent developments won’t interrupt our planned routine.”

I shrugged in acquiescence. “That sounds good to me. Just let me know when you want me to meet you and where, and I’ll be there.”

“Right. I will make note of it, then.”

We both fell silent after, allowing me to re-collect myself as we played several more moves. But then Cullen at last spoke again, his tone serious once more but also quieter, as though he were about to share some sort of secret with me.

“Tamsyn, there is something I wanted to talk with you about,” he murmured, the sound almost a purr that rippled down my spine with a softer stroke than the earlier electricity. “Now that we have a moment, it seems the best time to bring it up.”

My heart did a helpless little flutter in my chest. _God, I’m doomed…_

“Yes?” I asked, just as quiet as he, as though any other volume was inappropriate.

He paused, considering. “I should thank you for your help at my tower that night,” he said at length. He slid a pawn forward again, grasping the piece with a somewhat practiced poise I hadn’t noticed before. I also hadn’t noticed just how long and relatively slender his fingers were, even gloved, despite having held them in my own hands not that long ago. They weren’t feminine by any means, but neither were they blunted, boxy, or otherwise inelegant…

Forcefully shoving those thoughts aside, I glanced up from his move with brow furrowed, slightly puzzled by his words. “You already did, if I remember right.”

And I did remember. The soft smile and equally soft words, spoken in the shadows of dying firelight. How _could_ I forget that? It was like a vision in a dream – a chiaroscuro painting of my heart. I would never forget it as long as I lived.

He chuckled lightly once more, that sound again threatening to make my insides melt into goo, and I struggled not to show it on my face as he replied, “Yes, but I was half out of my mind. I’d rather do it again, properly this time.” He smiled warmly, and I felt my façade weakening further – Maker, he was going to break me before this game was over. “I appreciate your assistance, Tamsyn. It helps. It truly does.”

I swallowed. “Really?” My cheeks were hot again. Surely I was blushing as red as his coat this time and glowing like Rudolph’s nose. “I mean, I was afraid perhaps you might see me as becoming nothing more than an intrusive, badgering –”

He quickly shook his head. “ _No_. No, Tamsyn, not at all.” He leaned forward a little, holding my gaze with his arresting one, his expression nothing but earnest. “Rest assured that any ire thrown your way is borne of the symptoms suffered at the time, and I regret making it seem as though I wish you gone. It took me a long time to admit it, but I’ve found that your presence, at least, helps much more than the isolation I clung to before your arrival.”

_Oh, God help me… God help me… this man is going to kill me outright…_

“Well, I’m…” I cleared my throat loudly, somehow managing to tear my eyes away from his. “I’m glad to be of assistance. So long as I’m helping, of course. Please don’t think I’m some expert on how to treat lyrium withdrawals; no matter how much I know, that’s certainly _not_ part of it.”

“I understand,” he said with a singular nod. “Regardless, your help _is_ appreciated, and I wanted you to know that. And above all else, I especially value your discretion. Other than you and the Inquisitor, Cassandra is the only one who knows about this situation. If word was to get out…” he trailed, shaking his head again as he glanced towards the window. “If the men were to know their Commander could be crippled by withdrawals at any time…”

He didn’t need to finish for me to realize his concern. Even if the troops could understand it and were sympathetic towards his situation, they would be demoralized with worry for him. Most of them cared about him quite a bit by this point, and with their attention on him rather than the task at hand, the Inquisition’s might would weaken considerably.

“I simply want you to know I owe you a great debt for what you’ve done for me,” he continued at last, his words now making my eyes widen in surprise. “If there is anything I can do for you, anything at all, you have but to ask. I feel I have no other appropriate way of paying you back for your undeserved kindnesses.”

I blinked. _Undeserved?_ This man thought help during his worst withdrawal symptoms was _undeserved_? Did he honestly have such a low opinion of himself that he didn’t think he was worthy of any sort of aid to ease his suffering?

My heart shattered.

“You _do_ deserve kindness, Cullen,” I said firmly, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You deserve that and much more.”

This time, it was he who blinked, his expression incredulous. Then, after but a moment, his reply was laced with bitterness as he briefly glanced away. “I don’t see how you can say that and know what you do about me.”

I leaned forward. “I can most definitely say it, Commander. Precisely _because_ of what I know about you.”

His gaze met mine again, and I almost felt as though the floor had been jerked out from under me. So many emotions flickered behind those eyes that reflected the warm glow of the hearth, confusion and disbelief chief among them. It was a look that made me want to take his face into my hands and press gentle kisses to his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, anything I could reach. To shower him with the very love and affection to which he apparently thought he didn’t possess the right. To show him that there was at least one person in the world who cared about what happened to him.

At last, however, his regard drifted back to the board, and my fantasizing was brought to an abrupt and unwelcome end. “Speaking of what you know… you,” he was the one to clear his throat awkwardly this time, “haven’t, ah… spoken of the future in a while. I’m assuming since you haven’t approached us with warnings or anything of great import that all is going as… written? Fated?”

I let my gaze fall away, too, leaning back and toying with my other rook in my hand. “So far, yes. Although I’m not sure what to call it, either.” I paused. “I have a hard time believing in things like fate. Destiny.”

He was silent for a moment. Then, he replied thoughtfully, “The Chantry sisters tell us that the Maker’s hand is in all things, both good and bad. I’ll admit, I’ve often struggled with the concept in the past. But if there is one thing that I believe without a doubt, it is that the Maker must have sent you to us for a reason, even if you are not aware of what that reason is. Why else would you be the lone survivor of such destruction as you described when you first came to our doorstep?”

I looked back up at him, stunned. There it was. Cassandra, Mother Giselle, and now _Cullen_ all believed I had been sent to Thedas for some sort of divine purpose. Were they right? Could they be right? Or was it all just wishful thinking? And furthermore, should I be flattered? Or very concerned? Part of me thought it was more troubling than a comfort, and I had no idea what to say.

My silence must have completely debased his confidence, as he continued with a cautious tone, “Do you… do you believe in the Maker, or…? I mean, Cassandra told me you had a similar religion, but she never told me if you were…” he trailed awkwardly and then immediately began walking it back as if afraid of offending me somehow. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“Oh, no, Cullen _don’t_! I…” I started, shaking my head and throwing up my hands to reassure him. When he seemed satisfied I wasn’t upset with him, I explained, “It’s just… At this point, I don’t know what I believe. I haven’t for a while, and I’m not sure if that’s going to change anytime soon.”

He nodded again in understanding. “Fair enough. But, I think it’s apparent that even if you aren’t a Prophet in the true sense of the word, you are at least being watched over. Call that force what you like.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little at those words, remembering a similar conversation in the Inquisitor’s quarters. “Maxwell said the same, you know.”

He hummed softly, and Maker, I could feel the vibration of it in the table beneath my hand. “I think we are blessed to have both of you. The world needs you.”

Heat blossomed in my chest and threatened to rush to my cheeks again. I glanced back down at the board to try to quell the rush of emotions and found a rare window of opportunity waiting for me. There was his king, with a clear and immediate path for my queen to put him in firmly in check. It was very near my own king, as a matter of fact…

Unable to resist the temptation and seeing no other viable option (I barely had any moves left from what I could see), I carefully slid my queen sideways and into position.

“Um… check…?” I said tentatively, glancing back up to see him watching me. After but a moment, the faintest smirk curled at the corner of his mouth, the same corner as the scar that slashed his upper lip. Wordlessly, he took the piece I had so conveniently overlooked – his second knight, almost hidden behind a taller bishop – and with one move both captured my queen and…

“… _mate_.” He finished.

_Shit!_

“So close,” I said with a nervous laugh, snapping my finger and shaking my head at the loss.

“But not close enough,” he observed, the slight arch of one of his brows and the widening of his smirk a near-deadly combination to my already severely-weakened heart. I had never before swooned in my life, but in that moment, I sensed I was dangerously close to doing just that.

 _No_ , I thought as I finally managed to drag my gaze away from those tempting, kissable lips with their intriguing scar. _Not_ nearly _close enough…_

\------------------------------------------------------

For the Inner Circle, staff, and soldiers stationed at the castle, lunch had become a somewhat casual and quick affair – a bite to eat at the tavern if you could grab a seat, or if not, something light and simple from the various offerings set out daily on the tables in the great hall. Fresh and more elaborate midday meals were reserved for the noble guests, dignitaries, and other visitors who either sought the Inquisition’s favor or were contemplating contributing to the cause. And the truly fanciful dishes featured at supper alone, served to those who wished to dine together at the main hall rather than alone in their rooms. From what Lea had told me, Josephine was awaiting the arrival of a series of new banquet tables to properly accommodate these guests, and so that she could host feasts of a significantly larger scale on holidays.

I was content with my quieter meals, however, and I was greatly appreciative of the fact I could swipe my lunch from a side table and not have to linger amongst the nosy nobles who perpetually haunted the keep. After politely parting ways with Cullen just outside of Solas’s rotunda, I did just that, pausing only long enough to select a still-warm meat pie from a linen-lined basket before ducking through the garden door. I was hoping the food, the solitude, and the cold mountain air would erase the flush from my cheeks and thoughts of the handsome Commander from my mind for now. It seemed I could only take Cullen in small doses without losing my senses entirely…

Once outside, I made my way through the gardens and up to the battlements at a much more casual pace, snacking on the pie all the while and largely succeeding in my endeavor to clear my head. I was careful not to drop any of it on my outfit, my gloves tucked under my arm to keep the grease of the buttered crust from staining the fingertips. It was already eaten by the time I wandered through the tower where Hawke had made his appearance, and as I finally passed the Herald’s Rest, I took the wall stairs back down into the courtyard. After the fifteen-minute walk, it was probably a good idea for me to head back to my quarters and immerse myself in more reading, especially the books Vivienne had gotten me. Perhaps even practice a few flights with Nina if she had been established in my room already…

A familiar face stopped me, though. Halfway across the courtyard, I spotted Knight-Captain Rylen speaking with a few soldiers before they saluted him and separated from their superior officer, each going in opposite directions. As he glanced my way, I waved, and he waved back, a lopsided grin on his scarred and tattooed countenance. I felt it was appropriate to approach him, then, and as I did so, I noticed he sported the Antivan belt I had given him for Satinalia.

“Tamsyn,” he said warmly in greeting. “How goes it, milady?”

“Well enough,” I answered, pulling on my gloves again as I drew near. “What about you, Captain? Word is you’re pretty busy lately.”

“Aye,” he said with a dip of his helmed head. “Despite a few setbacks in recent months and all the patrol and reconnaissance squads we’ve had to send out into the field in Ferelden and Orlais, recruitment numbers are still increasing daily. Cullen and I have been in the process of dividing the army into more subunits to be managed by newly promoted senior officers. We’re still overseeing most of the training of new recruits, but more experienced troops are finding themselves either transferred away from the castle or helping command the newest of our soldiers down at the camp.”

“A true army,” I remarked. “An organization in and of itself. Both of you should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

“We are,” he replied, briefly nodding his agreement. “Even so, it’s hard not to think of what we’re asking these people to do. With the exception of those who were with us at Haven, they’ve no real idea what we’re going up against. Two-thirds of them have never even fought a bandit, much less darkspawn. And now we’re going to be facing down Grey Wardens, too?” The Templar shook his head and sighed. “They know what they signed up for, and at the same time, they don’t. I won’t mince words – morale is going to be a bitch to maintain once we start the _real_ fighting out there.”

This time, it was me who was slowly nodding in understanding. “The march to Adamant is going to begin shortly after the ball at the Winter Palace, isn’t it?”

“That’s the plan,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling deeply as he glanced to the battlements and squinted against the sunglare. “We’ve been getting a steady stream of information from the Approach and have already started narrowing our options. We’ll need to move quickly if we’re to have a chance against this demon army the Wardens want to build.”

“Right,” I said with a huff. This little happy interlude wasn’t going to last much longer. With Halamshiral a matter of only weeks away, the intensity of the Inquisition was going to be dialed up several notches before anyone would be quite ready for it. Including me.

“But we’ll handle all that as it comes,” the Knight-Captain continued at length, leaning on the partition wall that separated the upper and lower courtyards. His storm-blue eyes flicked from first one person and then the next as he watched the people in the courtyard. “The Commander tells me you’re going to be training with him, now.”

My brows rose. “Well, that was quick.”

He chuckled. “Just handed off some reports at his office a few minutes ago. He told me in passing he picked up a new recruit and clarified when I asked him about it.”

“Yep,” I said, shrugging. “That’s me.”

“Good,” he said with an approving nod. “You can learn a lot from him.” He then cast me a wry smile and added, “If you can keep from being put flat of your back long enough, that is.”

Both abashed and miffed at his words, I punched him in the upper arm. My knuckles were met with what felt like rock under his gambeson, my skin stinging and bones throbbing in response. “You caused that the last time!” I retorted.

He shook his head emphatically, “Oh, no I didn’t lass, _you’re_ the one who thought it was all over after that move.” He raised a leather-clad finger in a scolding gesture, “Never think your victory is secured, young lady, even when you’ve got him in a bind.” His smile returned. “And try not to let yourself get too distracted.”

“By what, exactly?” I asked, crossing my arms and challenging him to name what he was thinking.

And boy did he deliver.

“Oh, you know,” he replied with fake musing in his tone, “Those _fiery_ eyes and _rippling_ muscles…”

I thought my heart stopped beating for a moment. My eyes widened and my cheeks blazed fiercely as I punched him again, much harder this time, despite the fact it hurt my hand more than it hurt his arm. The skin actually went numb for a second before pain flared to the forefront of my senses…

“ _Rylen!_ ” I hissed.

His eyes rolled skywards, reflecting the blue of the heavens. “Oh, for the love of the Maker, lass, stop it with the playacting. You’ve been eyeing him ever since Haven. And don’t bother denying it, I’ve _seen_ you doing it!”

I lifted my chin defensively. “Can a woman not have a healthy appreciation for a man’s physique and it not mean something?”

He barked out a derisive laugh. “Not when you’re looking all dreamy-eyed at him while you’re doing the ‘appreciating.’”

“I do _not_ get dreamy-eyed!” I protested.

“Ohoho! Don’t you, now?” he laughed again, slapping the stone behind him before recovering and clearing his throat. He then leaned a little downwards towards me and said, quite seriously, “ _Ahem_. Yes. Yes, you do.”

I glared at him.

“Not to worry, though,” he added, raising a hand in a reassuring gesture. “He ‘appreciates’ you, too.”

The glare turned into a stare in the space of a second, and I could feel the heat blossoming in my chest again and spreading rapidly up my neck.

“Look, lass,” he edged closer to me, a sly smile on his face as his voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “In the years I’ve worked with him, I’ve seen a lot of people spar against Cullen. You’re the only woman I’ve ever seen who’s gotten _that_ close to defeating him in an honest one-to-one match.”

“Not even Cassandra?” I asked incredulously. If there was anyone who could put Cullen flat on his ass in the sparring ring, it would have to be her.

He shook his head. “Not even Cassandra. Formidable as the Seeker is.” His gaze briefly wandered over to her usual training spot, as if he expected her to be there, hacking away at her practice dummy. Then, his voice even quieter, he bent his face nearer to mine and continued, enunciating very clearly so that his words weren’t lost in the din of the castle. “The point is, lass, sometimes you’re as _distracting_ to him as he is to you.”

He then pointedly looked me in the eye, the briefest tilt of his head and lifting of his brow accompanying it, suggesting he knew a great many things he wasn’t going to tell me.

Then, very suddenly, he backed away from me, his smile returning broader than before. “But all in all, I think practicing with him will be good for you,” he said, winking. “In more ways than one.”

And with that, the Knight-Captain turned around and strode away, whistling a tavern song with one hand draped around the hilt of his sword and the other swinging freely by his side. I could do naught but watch him leave, mouth slightly agape, trying to process what exactly he had told me.

First Dorian, now Rylen.

 _Fuck_.

\------------------------------------------------------

That evening, my ever-observant instructor of ballroom dance didn’t fail to notice the distraction that veiled my mind and threatened to ruin the significant progress I had made during our practices thus far. And yet, despite Dorian’s teasing, poking, and prodding, I managed to dodge his nosy inquiries about the source of said distraction. Even though a small part of me wanted to boast a little about the secluded game and rather intimate conversation with the dashing Commander of the Inquisition’s armies, a larger part of me wanted to tease the Altus right back by withholding the information he was so desperately searching for.

I knew quite well that Dorian was capable of finding out what he wanted to know and then some all on his own. He was just like Varric in that regard. He could suss out secrets without spies and garner gossip without informants.

That made him almost as frightening as Leliana, in a way.

Just as I suspected, the mischievous twinkle in the Tevinter’s eye as we parted ways that night revealed his quest had already begun.

I returned to my quarters, and after a brief supper of stew with Lea (who was entirely enamored of the caged Nina), I immersed myself in reading, trying to relax before bedtime and get my mind on something besides Cullen and how he was influencing me. Yet, despite forcing myself through three chapters of etiquette, another scholarly article from the _Imagina_ , and even parts of the Chant I had yet to reach before the fall of Haven, I couldn’t unwind.

Thus, I then turned to my next possible option – the chronicle Varric had mentioned. All in all, now that I had considered it, it didn’t seem like too bad of an idea, whether writing it was to my personal benefit or otherwise. At the very least, it would mean at least one person in Thedas would write about the story of the Inquisition in a respectful and factual way. And the people involved deserved that much. Why should it not be me?

But even after I sat down at my desk, jotting quick notes about the start of it all and thinking about the beginnings of what would be the most powerful organization in the world, I couldn’t make my mind focus on the task at hand.

The carefully-penned script on multiple leaves of parchment hidden away in the drawer underneath my elbow was calling to me like a siren. And I couldn’t deny it. I could practically feel Nina’s critical gaze on me as if it were her mistress’s, but I didn’t care.

My muse singing in my ears all the while, I pulled out the sonnet that yet needed finishing and set to work on the next stanza, inspired by the game Cullen and I had played earlier and the conversation we had shared. And so, once I finally solidified my word choice and had my rhymes all set, the result was a nearly-complete poem:

_Alas, unknowing owner of my heart,_

_My love for thee, my tongue cannot express._

_And though the words do ache to from me part,_

_They shall be caged eternal in my breast._

_While courage is a virtue that is thine,_

_Foul cowardice instead belongs to me._

_Around my heart its clutching tendrils twine_

_So love’s own words and thoughts cannot fly free._

_But yet, no love from you will come my way,_

_For what have I that you might love in turn?_

_Silence is the better game to play;_

_Unvoiced, my love_ within my heart shall burn…

 

The last line pulled a wry smile from my lips as I slowly set my pen in my inkwell and picked up the parchment to examine my handiwork. With that, all that was left for it to be a proper Shakespearean sonnet was a rhyming couplet at the end.

Even so, it seemed that writing just that much had eased my mind, and once I put it away to think about another day, exhaustion finally set in. My brain emptied for the time being and my limbs heavy with fatigue, I crawled into bed and at last succumbed to sleep.

\------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, I woke to the news that the shamed Mayor of Crestwood had finally been brought back to Skyhold. He had been immediately taken to the dungeon where he awaited the Inquisitor’s judgment. It wouldn’t be long – considering from what Cullen had said during our previous conversation, Maxwell was expected to return any day now.

Most of us were rather eager for whatever news the Inquisitor had to share. The entire Inquisition seemed stalled until he arrived with information regarding red lyrium and the Emerald Graves. Moreover, he needed to prepare for Halamshiral, which would be upon us all rather soon, and with it, a whole new host of problems to contend with.

In the meantime, however, we all continued our duties as usual. Leliana had presented me with a new lock puzzle, which I started working on following a few “empty” flights with Nina to help her establish her message routes between me and the other members of the Inner Circle. This went on until lunchtime, after which I read out of Vivienne’s books until it was time to practice dancing with Dorian that evening. Dancing went as well as usual, and following that, I continued my work on compiling notes for my chronicle. I had much better luck sticking to my work schedule, and it was only after finalizing roughly five pages of notes on the Inquisition that I at last allowed myself the luxury of finishing the sonnet that refused to leave my mind until completion.

During the course of the day, I had thought of the perfect ending couplet for my sonnet. It was with nearly trembling fingers that I took up my quill and jotted them down at the end of the parchment at last, a sense of wonderment washing over me as some part of me felt oddly fulfilled.

_Thus only from afar may I admire_

_My sweetest Knight, who sets my heart afire._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to @SnippetsRUs, my keen-eyed beta reader, for support both emotional and technical. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just a Feeling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650106) by [Captain_Savvy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Savvy/pseuds/Captain_Savvy)
  * [Out Of the Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794971) by [SnippetsRUs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnippetsRUs/pseuds/SnippetsRUs)
  * [Secrets in Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133306) by [Captain_Savvy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Savvy/pseuds/Captain_Savvy)




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